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PETER BOSTEN 


^ A Story About Realities ^ 


By John Preston 



Herald Publishing House 

Lamoni Iowa 




Copyright, 1915, 
BY THE AUTHOR 




JAN 3 1916 

©GI.A418406 

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To 

WILL AND KATHERINE NICHOLS, 
Brooklyn, New York, 

I count it a privilege to 
Dedicate this book. 




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CONTENTS 


Chapter Page 

I Kansas and Missouri 9 

II Religion and Love 28 

III Kindred Spirits 47 

IV The Dividing Line 70 

V ‘The Boy Preacher^^ 90 

VI A Missionary's Troubles 108 

VII Peter Courts the Muse 123 

VIII Involving an Actress 138 

IX Life's Stage 154 

X Comedy and Drama 169 

XI Peter Takes a Hand 183 

XII In Journalism 200 

XIII An Eastern Reunion 218 

XIV A Gulf Between 236 

XV The Free Lance 252 

XVI Illusions of Life 272 

XVII A Sermon on America 287 

XVIII The Why and Wherefore 303 

XIX “The Way of Faith" 323 

XX A Dying Agnostic 339 

XXI The New Peter 346 



Kansas and Missouri 


9 


CHAPTER I 
KANSAS AND MISSOURI 

A TALL, lean figure meandered along one of the 
side streets of a Missouri town, obviously going no- 
where in particular. He had light hair, upon which 
the early-morning sun now danced, for he was car- 
rying his hat; and large, blue, interrogative eyes, 
which took in his environment leisurely. The mouth 
was so formed that one would expect to see it smile 
a good deal; but just now it was not smiling, for 
Peter Bosten was somewhat lonesome. 

The stillness of Sabbath sat upon the town; par- 
ticularly this part of it, where the trees were so 
plentiful. Except for the far-off hum of trolley cars 
and the occasional toot of a motor, there were no 
sounds to jar upon the meditations of a reflective 
stroller. 

Peter was thinking of his past; of the quiet years 
spent upon a Kansas farm and in the store of a vil- 
lage merchant. Was it these he was lonesome for, 
this morning? No; he decided not. He would not 
go back to them. Slaving on a farm for a mercenary 
uncle, who considered it wasting time to read or 
study, and catering to the customers of a mole-man 
like Jerry Muntz, his erstwhile merchant employer, 


10 


Peter Bosten 


had no particular charms for Peter, — at least, for 
the Peter of three land twenty years. 

Perhaps, then, it was the two years of university 
life and the few months of business college life upon 
which he looked back with a sigh? No; Peter 
thought not. College had been a grind, just as every- 
thing else had been in his life. And yet, somewhere 
in the past, there were voices that called to him; 
voices of happiness and freedom, love and inspira- 
tion. 

'‘The books,” he murmured, pressing his lips more 
firmly together and checking a breath that too closely 
resembled a sigh. 

True, it was the books. They had always been his 
companions. They had stood him for friends, loves, 
recreation, — everything. And now they were to be, 
in part, given up. He was entering into a business 
office here in Petit City, as stenographer and book- 
keeper, and would be obliged to bestow what mental 
energy he possessed upon his work. 

The day’s labor would no longer be merely inci- 
dental to his living, as it had been on the farm and in 
the store, where he looked forward to the evening’s 
study as the only serious phase of his daily existence ; 
but would be an end in itself, an unworthy end, and 
of a nature to necessitate physical recreation: in 


Kansas and MissouH 


11 


other words a waste of time: during the precious 
hours of evening. 

Peter inwardly rebelled against the force of cir- 
cumstances which impelled him in the direction of 
business. He saw no sense in joining the money- 
mob, whose ranks were already overcrowded, and 
planning a lifelong expenditure of brain and body 
force for the mere ignoble purpose of attaining phys- 
ical comforts. In fact, he was rather surprised at 
himself, this bright, peaceful Sunday morning, for 
accepting this position in Petit City at all. Why had 
he not, his savings spent on a college course, gone 
back to the farm again ; to the physical toil that left 
the mind free, and the faculties eager for study in 
leisure hours? 

Peter repeated the question ; and the answer came 
from a remote comer of his brain : Because there is 
in your nature a love of adventure, a hunger and a 
thirst for experiences new. Nor will you stop here. 
You will go on and on, crying for what is ahead; 
tasting of new things, and casting them aside when 
they have lost their flavor. And always it will be 
with you as it is now: having forsaken the old, and 
lost a desire for it, you will nevertheless experience 
odd longings, associated with the past; and by and 
by your reaching out toward the future will become 
almost mechanical, void of the joys of anticipation. 


12 


Peter Bosten 


For this is your nature, Peter Bosten ; and you are 
better aware of it than any man. Yours is a hungry 
mind; and this world is a strange place for such. 
Then at last, — 

But here the voice of his spirit became inaudible ; 
and Peter suddenly realized that he had uncon- 
sciously selected a shady spot beside a large, va- 
cant lot, and was lying on the grass. He gazed 
about him listlessly, until his eye caught the glint 
of a white, stone building through the trees. 

“That must be their church,’’ he thought. Then he 
turned around and surveyed the field of waving grass 
behind him. “And this must be the Temple Lot. Yes, 
there’s the meetinghouse of the other people ; I forget 
what they call them.” 

Chiefiy because he was lonesome, Peter rose and 
strolled on toward the stone church. It was early, 
but he knew that these people had a habit of going 
to meeting at all times of the day. He recalled, as 
he walked along, his experiences with them back in 
Kansas; and shook his head in a serio-comic man- 
ner as he thought of the reputation they had for 
honesty and sincerity. 

“You’ve certainly got to hand it to them,” he mur- 
mured, unwittingly using the slang of the day. 

The Kansan called to mind all the unpleasant 
things he had heard about them, contrasting this 


Kansas and Missouri 


13 


generous heap of data with his own personal knowl- 
edge of them ; and smiled at the folly of little minds. 
His thoughts then drifted to the subject of religion, 
and to the habits of religionists, in general; and 
again he shook his head, this time compressing his 
lips. 

He halted at a respectful distance from the stone 
church, surveying it with interest, and completing, 
in his imagination, the two unfinished steeples. Af- 
ter speculating on the labor and sacrifice that must 
have gone into the erection of the structure, he drew 
nearer and read one of the announcement boards. 

The first Sunday service was a young people's 
prayer meeting. Peter's watch told him that it 
would now be in progress. Would he go in, or would 
he continue his lonely walk? 

He hesitated. Not in a strait betwixt duty and 
desire, but rather bashfulness and monotony. It 
required considerable courage to interrupt a service, 
a prayer meeting especially. Still, he had yet to 
receive hostile looks from the members of this de- 
nomination, and — 

Well, why be so backward? First thing he knew, 
some one would be suspecting him of Kansas rear- 
ing. Peter impulsively took a step forward, deter- 
mining to exercise his courage now and henceforth 
at every opportunity. 


14 


Peter Bosten 


He almost regretted his bravery, the moment he 
had set foot in the prayer-room, for a dead silence 
prevailed there. Some sympathetic soul, however, 
observing his embarrassment no doubt, started up a 
hymn ; and Peter resolved to find that individual and 
reward him (it was a bass voice that started the 
singing) , though the quest prove long and uncertain. 

The stranger found a seat toward the rear of the 
room, and sat with eyes' and ears alert. He observed 
and he philosophized. Although it was not more than 
half-past eight, and an alluring summer’s morning, 
there were many young men and women present — 
girls of style and evident charm, whom one would 
have expected to find taking their beauty sleep or 
setting out on motor excursions. But here they were 
in this warm, solemn room; singing, praying and 
standing up to tell of “God’s goodness” to them. 

Peter had seen a little of this back in the Kansas 
town; but there it had not impressed him particu- 
larly. Village folks were in the habit of getting up 
early, anyway ; and the boys and girls of small places 
found their chief entertainment in congregating. 
But here in the city, amid innumerable pleasures, 
where the stress of the week left one weary on a 
Sunday morning, this young people’s meeting was a 
phenomenon to him. He admitted to himself that 
he could not understand it. If the spirit of fanati- 


Kansas and Missouri 


15 


cism had been present he would have explained the 
meeting according to a formula; but there was no 
such spirit. Those who spoke, spoke rationally ; and 
the prayers had the ring of sincerity. 

Sincerity. It was this fact that gripped the Kan- 
san. He marveled at one or two of the girls, es- 
pecially. They were not of the commonly-scouted 
variety of ‘'intellectuals’'; that is to say, they were 
not wedded to the intellectual merely in the absence 
of more alluring weddings : but girls who knew how 
to make clothes beautify, yet did not need the tricks 
of art to render themselves attractive. Obviously 
they were young women who would be sought after. 
And here they were, thinking more of the next world 
than this ; more of their fellow creatures than them- 
selves. 

In the midst of his reflections Peter was aware of 
the sound of a familiar voice, and turning toward 
the speaker he remembered that it was from that 
direction the first notes of song had come to his re- 
lief on entering the place. This, without doubt, was 
the kind soul who had had compassion upon him in 
a moment of trial. But the levity of the thought 
quickly vanished ; submerged in the seriousness, the 
sincerity, of the speaker’s tone. 

Not until the testimony was done could Peter 
philosophize. He had been carried along by the deep, 


16 


Peter Bosten 


strong current of soul force that accompanied it. 
He noted the dark complexion and pleasing features, 
but did not dwell upon them: the vibration of the 
voice and the significance of the words were so much 
more vital. They bespoke a soul apart; free from 
the dross of earth, having access to higher planes of 
thought and living than the ordinary creature can 
understand. 

The Kansan felt that he, himself, did not under- 
stand. The full import of the testimony was lost on 
him, he knew ; but he also knew that the spirit of it, 
the motive behind it, were factors that his own be- 
ing could in some degree appraise; and he did not 
hesitate a moment in forming his judgment of this 
young man. 

“One to be loved and relied on for ever,'' was his 
verdict. 

Peter decided to breast the tide of fair and un- 
known faces, the moment the meeting was over, and 
make his way toward the outstanding individual 
present. He did so, grimly ashamed of his blushes ; 
and was surprised to see that the one he sought was 
also seeking him. 

They had clasped hands a moment before either 
spoke, and their eyes were in communication. Peter 
smiled. 


Kansas and Missouri 


17 


‘‘I want to thank you for starting that hymn. It 
was you, wasn't it?" 

‘‘Yes." The other smiled too, a smile just as genu- 
ine as Peter’s. “You must have thought it was a 
Quaker’s meeting?" 

“No. I know your people, although I am not a 
member." 

“We’ll soon fix that," was the quick reply, accom- 
panied by a merry, brief, bass laugh which struck 
Peter as being distinctly individual. He had never 
heard one like it before. 

“Do I look like a probable convert?" There was 
no sarcasm in the tone. , 

“Well, I don’t know. You showed great courage 
in that doorway. I’m half sorry, now, that I helped 
you out. You would have carried it through just 
the same." 

“It requires courage, then, to become a convert?" 

“They say it does. I don’t know. I’ve been in 
this church all my life, and perhaps am not a com- 
petent judge of that. But it seems to me it would 
take far more courage to face the world without the 
hope we have, than with it." 

Again there was the peculiar element in the voice 
that impressed Peter. Also, he was struck with the 
sentiment. 

“It’s queer," he observed, after a momentary si- 


18 


Peter Bosten 


lence in which the two of them were scarcely con- 
scious of their surroundings, ^‘but I seem to have 
known you before. Away back before store days 
and farm days — '' 

Peter broke off, unconsciously. He had spoken 
more to himself than to his new-found friend. 

‘‘Do you believe in the preexistence of the soul?’^ 
he asked, suddenly eoming out of his distraction. 

“Yes, indeed.'' 

As he had done beside the Temple Lot, Peter now 
discovered himself seated. And another discovery 
he made, at the same moment: he had forgotten to 
give his name. With an apologetic grin he met the 
gaze of his interlocutor. 

“Pardon me," he said, “but I'll trade names with 
you." 

The other laughed, in his pleasant bass. “Now 
isn't that strange," he replied ; “but it never occurred 
to me that we — My name's Crayne, Noel Cnayne." 

“And mine's Peter Bosten. I'm from Kansas. Go- 
ing to take a stenographic position with a firm here 
in Petit City, ‘The Gray Electric Company.' I ar- 
rived late last night and found a temporary boarding 
house. Then, being unable to sleep this morning, I 
got up and went for a walk, which took me in this 
direction. I dropped in because I had nothing else 
to do, and was sort of — sort of lonesome." 


Kansas and Missouri 


19 


'‘You’re coming with me for dinner,” said Noel, 
conclusively. 

Before the Kansan could dispute this arrangement 
(he had no intention of so doing) , Crayne went on to 
say that he reciprocated his new friend’s impressions 
regarding a former acquaintance, sometime, some- 
where; but was interrupted by a male voice from 
the rear. 

“Hello there, Allan,” said Noel, turning round. 
“Meet Mr. Bosten, Mr. Leader.” 

Peter was unfavorably impressed, at first, with 
the intruder. He was a lad of perhaps twenty, with 
piercing eyes, an aquiline nose, high cheek bones and 
a fighting chin. Instantly Peter detected himself en- 
gaging in an imaginary but sanguinary combat with 
this dangerous-looking young fellow. However, 
when Leader spoke, although his tones were any- 
thing but musical, Peter felt an impulsive wave of 
sympathy for him. 

“Noel,” he said, regardless of the presence of a 
stranger who had been introduced as “Mr.” rather 
than “Brother,” “I came over to tell you how much 
good your testimony did me this morning.” 

The speaker’s voice began to shake, and tears stole 
into his eyes. Peter marveled at these phenomena. 
They were so contradictory to the features and per- 
sonality of Leader. But he was speaking on. 


20 


Peter Bosten 


“It was a fight for me to come here, I can tell you. 
The very powers of evil seemed drawing me — ^well, 
you know where. Noel, I want you to pray for me. 
I believe God listens to a man like you.” 

These words were spoken in a tone of conviction. 
Peter could not but realize that the speaker was sin- 
cere ; and a familiar question confronted him. Why 
could not he thus believe in God’s intervention in 
human affairs? Or, rather, why did he not? Why 
did not the necessity of it appeal to him? 

When the Kansan came out of his meditation he 
realized that Leader had gone and Crayne was con- 
versing with two girls. Instinctively he moved 
away; but Noel caught his sleeve and drew him 
closer to the delectable danger. 

Then Peter was introduced to Jessie Kirkton and 
Adele Cressy. He remembered hearing Miss Kirk- 
ton speak in the meeting, but not Miss Cressy. As 
a matter of fact, the latter had not spoken. 

The contrast between Allan Leader and Noel 
Crayne, thought the visitor, was not more marked 
than that between these two girls. One was quiet, 
extremely modest, thoughtful of countenance, and 
possessed a beauty seemingly independent of the 
physical ; the other was pretty, proud and apparently 
superficial. That both of them liked Crayne was at 
once apparent to the observant Kansan. 


Kansas and Missouri 


21 


Miss Kirkton mentioned how she had enjoyed the 
meeting, and at the remark Miss Cressy glanced at 
the stranger rather apologetically and smiled an 
enigmatic smile. A faint flush touched the cheeks of 
the former, at this (and Miss Cressy, Peter was con- 
vinced, not himself, had provoked it) ; which caused 
Noel to produce those musical, guttural sounds of 
his, and observe: 

‘This fellow isn’t a brother yet, but see how young 
he is.” 

Peter laughed, and assured them that all the same 
he had enjoyed the prayer service too. 

Suddenly Miss Kirkton asked him if he sang; he 
hesitated — and all was lost. A moment later another 
Miss Kirkton had been summoned, to whom he was 
introduced and turned over with such expedition that 
he felt a trifle dizzy. Before he fully comprehended 
what was being done, he found himself pledged to 
help in the choir. 

Peter’s face assumed such a comical expression of 
despair, when he realized he had committed himself, 
that Bertha Kirkton, Jessie’s sister, felt constrained 
to fortify him against the ordeal. She told him that 
Crayne would be close beside him and — 

But this was enough. Peter’s face lighted up right 
away, and he agreed to do his best. NoeFs eyes 
gleamed with pleasure. 


22 


Peter Bosten 


“Say, Jessie,'' he said, “if you'll take my class this 
morning I think I'll skip Sunday school. I've a good 
reason." 

He whispered something in her ear, and the pact 
was arranged. 

A few minutes later Peter found himself on the 
way to his boarding house, in company with Noel, 
who had formed some sort of resolution, the sub- 
stance of which was not quite apparent to the 
Kansan. 

When Peter was commanded to pack his suit case 
and leave instructions for a trunk to be sent to 1441 
Walton Street, the fullness of Noel's perfidy finally 
swept down upon him. 

“Now come on, please," coaxed the Missourian, 
his companion having shown signs of balking, “even 
if it's only for a day or two. We have three big 
empty rooms, and mother and I are lonesome. Say, 
if you only knew how my mammy can cook, you'd — " 

Noel halted, and they laughed in each other's 
faces. It was all so jolly to Peter, who had never 
known such full and spontaneous friendship as this ; 
and an adventure, too, so much after Noel's own 
heart. There was nothing to do but pull together, 
they decided, finally : which, the Kansan discovered, 
in this case meant pulling in Noel's direction: so 


Kansas and MissouH 


23 


they each took a strap of Peter’s suit case and walked 
up the middle of the street with it. 

Was this the same Crayne who had commanded 
the attention of a hundred young men and women so 
solemnly an hour ago? Peter glanced at him inter- 
rogatively, bewilderedly, and wondered when the 
awakening from this dream would come. 

But it did not come. Instead, the dream pro- 
gressed in its fairy-like course, bringing the Kansan 
in touch with another desirable character, — Mrs. 
Crayne. 

She received her son and the visitor literally with 
open arms. It was a hospitable movement charac- 
teristic of her. And Peter noticed that her eyes were 
the same shape as Noel’s, large and rather oblique, 
and had a way, like his, of glistening with pleasure. 

There were no whispered consultations behind 
doors, or other evidences of enforced welcome. Noel 
merely said that he had brought their home a pleas- 
ant surprise, as though the visitor were a Christmas 
present. This made an end of the matter. 

Peter was shown to the cleanest bedroom he had 
ever seen, and told that this was his. He might 
have been a dear relative. Here, he reflected, hos- 
pitality was complete. 

Peter was asked, upon descending to the living 
room, whether he would prefer to attend church at 


24 


Peter Bosten 


eleven o^clock or stay home and visit with Mrs. 
Crayne. A fearful vision of himself in the choir 
persuaded him to make the easy choice, but imme- 
diately he changed his mind, for it occurred to him 
that he would be keeping Noel's mother home from 
the service. He was glad he had made the sacrifice 
when he saw the pleased expression on her face and 
her son's. 

Were they trying to convert him? he asked him- 
self, with a secret smile. If so, he would be obliged 
to yield, out of very appreciation of their kindness. 
But he could not, and did not, really charge them 
with any such intentions. They had favored him 
out of the goodness of their hearts, and he loved 
them for it. That he differed now and might for 
ever differ from them on matters of theology was 
irrelevant to this wonderful friendship, so suddenly 
and sincerely begun. 

Mrs. Crayne asked the boys not to wait for her, as 
she would be late. Besides, Noel had to arriye ten 
minutes early to arrange the anthems. 

The mention of the word anthem almost over- 
balanced the Kansan's still wavering courage ; but he 
was buoyed up by the tactful Noel with many logical 
assurances. 

On the way to the church Peter found occasion to 


Kansas and MissouH 


25 


inquire about Allan Leader, who was still on his 
mind. 

“You would hardly believe,'^ Noel replied, as 
though speaking to an old-time confidant, “what that 
fellow's been through. He began life in good sur- 
roundings: his father is one of our best men and 
preachers: but he drifted into the very purple of 
iniquity, and it's only of late he has tried to lift 
himself out of it." 

Peter appreciated this confidence more than he 
could say. Noel's utter disregard for appearances; 
his superiority, for instance, to such a qualification 
as would have kept Allan's father out of mention; 
struck the Kansan as an admirable example of hon- 
esty and fearlessness of dishonesty. Here was a 
character with whom one could be unreservedly 
truthful, for he was so himself. 

They talked awhile about Leader, Noel express- 
ing the hope that good influences would succeed in 
permanently winning him back from a life of folly. 

“Why do you say 'good influences,' rather than 
God?" Peter asked, not vdth any desire to be clever. 

Noel took the question seriously; seemed glad, in 
fact, that it had been propounded. 

“Because I like to feel that man has a lot to do 
with his own salvation — and that of his fellows. Our 


26 


Peter Bosten 


church, Mr. Bosten, does not preach the saved-by- 
grace doctrine. We lay emphasis on works.” 

The Kansan's large, interrogative eyes widened in 
appreciation. 

“That,” he returned, “is the most sensible piece of 
theology I've yet heard.” 

The argument, if argument it could be called, 
would doubtless have gone further, had not the 
church been at hand. They entered a side door lead- 
ing into the basement, and there the choir had al- 
ready gathered. 

Noel was soon the center of interest, a fact that 
Peter did not marvel at. The girls especially had a 
way of drifting toward him, that reminded the Kan- 
san of analogies in nature too numerous to mention. 
But Noel was more bent on introducing his new 
friend and making him feel at home, than on answer- 
ing irrelevant questions and returning pretty greet- 
ings. 

On one girl, however, the Missourian did attend, 
the moment he saw her approaching. It was Jessie 
Kirkton, and she had some one at her heels. 

The some one was Helen Dyke. 

A singular thing happened to Peter when he took 
the hand Helen offered. He who did not believe in 
visions, saw one. Green fields, and the play of sun- 
light on water. High-fioating clouds, and — 


Kansas and Missouri 


27 


But the vision mysteriously disappeared, for a 
very natural reason. He had been seeing it in great, 
dark eyes, over which the lids now suddenly and 
bashfully fell. 

The Kansan had an uncomfortable feeling that he 
ought to apologize. But he could not frame suitable 
phrases. So he looked at the toe of his shoe. 


28 


Peter Bosten 


CHAPTER II 

RELIGION AND LOVE 

The two friends were sitting on the front-ver- 
anda, digesting one of Mrs. Crayne's notable dinners. 
At the solicitation of both Noel and his mother, 
Peter had taken up his abode with them as a boarder. 
But never, in the history of boarding houses, had 
there been one like this. 

Peter was in a retrospective mood, and while he 
was loath to interrupt the sketch, whatever it was, 
that Noel was making in pencil, on a bit of paper, 
he could not refrain from indulging in pleasant 
reminiscences. Several months had passed since 
his coming to Petit City ; but the fairy tale was still 
being spun, and seemed likely to continue. There 
had been no breaks in the fabric of it. Peter had 
been exceedingly happy. 

Of course, there had been religious discussions to 
no end, and, Peter hoped, these would continue. For 
they were not of the kind that end in personalities, 
misunderstanding and ill-feeling; but arguments in- 
volving only ideas and a sincere desire for the eluci- 
dation of truth. 

One circumstance puzzled the Kansan, in spite of 
his high regard for the mental liberality of these his 


Religion and Love 


29 


friends : the entire absence of fear on Mrs. Crayne’s 
part that he (Peter) would alienate NoePs mind 
from his faith. This assurance, he was compelled to 
admit, was not mere egotism ; for the Craynes were 
anything but egotists. Their very creed necessitated 
the obliteration of the ego, or, rather, the submerg- 
ing of it in the will of the divine. 

Theological queries, however, were in the back of 
his mind this noon hour. Immediately in his 
thoughts were the incidents and coincidences that 
had marked his coming to the Craynes’ and his so- 
journ with them. 

''Noel,” he remarked, "as you sit there making 
a sketch of your Jessie ” 

"Don’t flatter yourself,” Noel interrupted, with a 
grin, "that this series of lines here portrays the 
beauty you have mentioned.” 

Whereat the sketch was flashed in Peter’s face, 
and he saw a likeness not of Jessie Kirkton but of 
himself. And the artist gave vent to his odd bass 
laugh, which made Peter think of a different musical 
instrument each time it was sounded. Now he as- 
sociated it with a rapid cadenza on a bass viol. 

"I apologize to Jessie,” said the Kansan, taking 
the sketch and admiring it, in spite of the fact that 
it was his own profile. "But I was going to say: As 
you sit there amusing yourself with pencil and paper, 


30 


Peter Bosten 


I can scarcely identify you with the Noel Crayne I 
met that Sunday morning in the church basement/' 

“How is that?" 

“Well, I hardly know. You seemed to me like a 
being from Mars or some other planet above the 
earth, then. Now you are merely a man, like myself, 
—eh?" 

The “eh" interpreted the remark for Noel. He 
knew that his friend was simply drawing him out, 
as usual, in order to make a point of his, Noel's, sup- 
posed superiority. 

“Peter," he returned, “you may not believe it, but 
let me tell you that often I envy you and your ways. 
I can not conceive of myself facing the universe with 
a question, as you seem to do, and of still retaining 
my grip upon myself, upon morality and high ideals. 
I depend upon my faith in God and a hereafter to 
keep me up ; yes, I know I do." 

The Kansan looked at his watch, not like one who 
would gladly escape present company, but as though 
he regretted the passage of time. 

“I'm renting that little Ford again this afternoon," 
he said, grinning. “Promised to call at a certain 
address about three o'clock. So don't let us get down 
so deep, Noel, that we can not extricate ourselves in 
time for my engagement." 


Religion mid Love 


31 


Their voices blended in a chuckle, for well they 
knew their failings. 

“I wouldnT have you miss the appointment for 
worlds,” observed Noel. ‘‘And I'm not only thinking 
of you, either.” 

“Ah, go on, you — sentimentalist! — But anyway, 
I'm thinking it would take considerable to make 
me forget my pleasure to that extent. Noel, now 
seriously, why should I take such entire leave of my 
reason as to keep doing this thing when I know it 
will all end in disappointment ?” i 

“Peter !” came the admonition, “you mustn't keep 
thinking of disastrous consequences all the time like 
this. Do you know what you are? You're a fatalist; 
a fatalist in love as in religion. What you need is 
a little faith.” 

It always happened like this. No matter what 
subject they discussed, they came back, automati- 
cally, to religion ; to the spiritual laws affecting man's 
life on earth and beyond. 

The Kansan was silent a moment. However 
widely he differed from Noel in theory, the Mis- 
sourian put such sweeping earnestness into his as- 
sertions that under its influence Peter frequently be- 
came aware of the staggering of logic. It was a 
strange feeling, capable of involving the derange- 
ment of the entire universe, he conceived, if carried 


32 


Peter Bosten 


beyond certain bounds. What those bounds were he 
could not determine, any more than he could deter- 
mine the nature of this influence that radiated from 
Noel Crayne. 

''If I need faith,'' he asked, throwing off the weight 
of his subconscious reflections, "why do you say 
that sometimes you envy me ? Am I not to be pitied 
if your faith be true and I can not grasp it?" - 

Noel's eyes sparkled, as they always did on these 
occasions. 

"An ignorant man might pity you, Peter, but a 
thinking man never could. The reason for this is 
that you are, beyond doubt, sincere. Only the insin- 
cere are, or ought to be, the objects of pity. You 
are a most peculiar case ; the hardest, in fact, that I 
have ever met. There is no way of getting at you, 
it seems. One must reason with you on an abstract 
basis ; and you are so intensely logical that you would 
drive most men mad in an argument. But you never 
take unfair advantage of a controversialist, and you 
do not often resort to sophistry. Therefore I ad- 
mire your — ^your intellect. But this envy of mine 
concerns your soul, rather than your brain — if we 
can make a distinction between the two. You live 
independently of your fellows; you do not, you say, 
believe in any of our religions ; you can not compre- 
hend a God: and yet, in spite of all this, you love 


Religion and Jjove 


33 


your fellow men, you devote yourself to good works, 
believe in the immortality of the soul, and — and 
argue without losing your ballast!” 

Peter made a smiling comment on his friend’s 
oratory, but sobered down instantly as he concen- 
trated on one of Noel’s statements. 

“You say that you know you could not 'keep up’ 
without this faith of yours, Noel. Now, I believe 
that you could. You and men like you, of which, 
thank goodness, there are a few in the world, are 
what you are because of the centuries, the eons, the 
influences that lay behind you. Not because of your 
belief in a God, but in spite of it. You could sur- 
render this belief, and still crave what is noble and 
good and true ” 

“But,” came the interruption, “without the Scrip- 
tures, which we cherish, where would we find stand- 
ards of goodness and truth? What would we be 
guided by?” 

Peter smiled. 

“There we come to the dividing line, as usual,” he 
said. “You always seem to forget that you are talk- 
ing to an agnostic instead of a religionist.” 

“So I do,” agreed Noel. “You maintain that the 
Bible and everything else in this world, except Na- 
ture, is the work of man.” 

“Yes. Man made religion what it is : religion did 


34 


Peter Bosten 


not make man what he is. He came to his present 
status by fighting the fight of the universe, which has 
been unswervingly onward and upward, through the 
slime and morass, in blood and sweat. He has set 
up standards for himself all along the way; and these 
have become nobler, as he has became nobler. If he 
desires to create a god, if that god be as noble as 
yours, I say let him go on creating. But I must re- 
serve the right, as a rational being, to follow my 
own standards. And whether they are as lofty as 
yours or not can only be determined by our actions. 
Does not this faith of yours, let me ask you, in the 
final analysis mean works? And how are these 
works judged? By faith in the divine, or by the 
human faculty we call reason*^ Will you answer me 
that, Noeir^ 

‘Teter, Fm not sure that I quite follow you. Yes, 
wait a minute. Here again we come to the abstract. 
You place reason anterior to faith; I put faith before 
reason. It is a matter not of logic but of choice, of 
spiritual inclination.’' 

“No, I think you are wrong, Noel.” Peter was 
warming up. “You believe in God and your gospel, 
don’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you do so out of choice? Is it a mere whim? 


Religion mid Love 


35 


Or do you do so because you believe it to be right?” 

“Because I believe it to be right, of course.” 

“Then you have a reason for your faith : a ‘reason 
for the hope that is within you,' as your splendid 
orator, Mr. Leader, said this morning in his sermon. 
Why, it is this disposition on your part and on the 
part of your preachers that warms me to you. Every 
earnest member of your church seems not only will- 
ing but anxious to give a reason for his belief. Is 
that not so?” 

“It is,” replied Noel, unequivocally. 

“Then,” Peter returned quickly, “is not reason 
anterior to faith?” 

Noel considered the question well before replying. 

“Peter,” he said, at length, “I feel that there is an 
answer somewhere, but I can not command it. We 
will call this a point in your favor, for the time be- 
ing. Let us go back to your theory of evolution. 
Tell me, in what way is a true interpretation of this 
doctrine in conflict with the idea of God? How does 
it account for Nature?” 

“I don't say it is thus in conflict. But I do say 
that it is opposed to the common conception of God. 
There may be a Divine Being. I can not compre- 
hend him, but he may exist for all that. But if so, 
he is infinitely above the God of the ancient Israel- 
ites, who, I believe, are responsible for that beauti- 


36 


Peter Bosten 


ful, poetical and fanciful work the Bible; yes, and 
above the modem Christian’s conception, too. He is 
a being in harmony with the greatness of this uni- 
verse, the workings of which the human family is 
just beginning to vaguely understand. Even you, 
Noel, make him lan interested spectator in the petty 
concerns of our infinitesimal individual existences. 
To me this is inconceivable. To you it seems to be 
conceivable. And there we are — at the dividing line 
again. But my point is this : that my belief is more 
reasonable than yours, and therefore more desirable. 
I concern myself with this world alone, cherishing no 
illusions, but doing my poor best. You do your best, 
but you have illusions and they hamper you. With- 
out them you would be even a nobler and stronger 
character than you are.” 

The Missourian spoke after a thoughtful pause. 

“You forgot to answer my question about evolu- 
tion and Nature. What does your belief do with the 
grass of the fields? And, for that matter, with all 
life? With birth and with death?” 

“Leaves them alone, as inoomprehensibles,” re- 
plied the Kansan. “Religionists go building the- 
ories around them. I can not accept these specula- 
tions; to me they are mere human vagaries. I can 
not, for instance, believe in the garden of Eden story, 
or the story of Creation. Judged in the light of all 


Religion [and Love 


37 


the knowledge I possess, they are unreasonable, im- 
possible. Nor can I see any possible advantage in 
trying to believe them. Observation has convinced 
me that men and women may go through this world 
leading clean, admirable, useful lives without believ- 
ing in them. Here you will say that our lives may be 
admirable on the surface but if we do not have the 
‘love of God' in our hearts we are empty shells. 
This, I beg to say, is a supposition, and I have no 
room in my creed for suppositions. My beliefs, 
whatever they are, rest upon knowledge and reason. 
But you have no right, Noel, to ask me to explain 
what neither I nor yourself really understand. If 
I followed the same line of argument I would ask 
you to work a miracle, since you believe in miracles.” 

Noel put his hand on his friend's knee. 

“Peter,” he smiled, “you are too keen for me — ^too 
clever.” 

“No, it's not that, old boy. It's the logic. Honest 
men like you can not stem it. I don't deserve a bit 
of the credit myself.” 

“And yet,” Noel returned, “I am not convinced. 
I still believe that my view is right ; that there is a 
God in heaven who guides us ” 

“I have ^ot denied God,” Peter interrupted. 

“My God, you have; the Father of the human 
family and of past and present revelation. If you 


38 


Peter Bosten 


have a god, Peter, he is different from mine; dif- 
ferent from the only true and living God/' 

Peter shook his head, rather sadly. 

“There you go again with your assumptions," he 
said, as near to impatience as he ever got with the 
Missourian. 

“I beg your pardon," Noel apologized: “and now 
I may continue in my assumption ! I still have my 
faith whole, Peter. Moreover, I go so far as to pre- 
dict that some day you will see as I do^ — because you 
are honest. There is a passage in the Scriptures I 
love, which says : Tf any of you lack wisdom, let him 
ask of God that giveth to all men liberally, and up- 
braideth not; and it shall be given him.' If you 
would only pray earnestly, Peter, this faith, this con- 
viction, of mine and my brothers would come to you. 
I know it would." 

Out of respect for the sincerity of these senti- 
ments rather than the sentiments themselves, Peter 
forbore to reply. He was afraid of wounding so fine 
a spirit as Noel's by delving too deeply with his 
human weapons. Moreover, he was restrained again 
by the subtle infiuence that often accompanied such 
whole-hearted declarations of Noel's. 

He did not tell his friend, at this time, of the night 
he had kneeled to pray for the wisdom promised and 
broken into a spell of weeping so violent its effects 


Religion and Love 


39 


remained with him for days ; nor did he recount his 
consequent reflections : By going contrary to reason 
and appealing to a god in whom he could not believe, 
he had deliberately upset the psychologic arrange- 
ment of his mind, a mind intrinsically rational, and 
induced a conunon phenomenon — a disturbance of 
the emotions. He had seen the same thing happen 
in others, of various creeds and degrees of intellec- 
tuality. Some individuals, even whole congrega- 
tions, so far surrendered themselves, against reason, 
to the domination of fancy that they became tem- 
porarily insane. Under such conditions Peter had 
witnessed what were called certain ‘ 'gifts of the gos- 
pel,'' of the validity of which and the reason for 
which he could not conceive. 

His crying spell, upon the night of his attempt 
to pray, had resulted in a resolution to tamper no 
more with the unknown. But he did not tell Noel 
of this resolution, to-day. He might do so, he 
thought, at some future time. 

Notwithstanding he was about to enter upon the 
great weekly adventure : his Sunday afternoon meet- 
ing with Helen Dyke: the Kansan reluctantly tore 
himself away from Noel. Their friendship was a 
source of constant wonder to him. Like tastes and 
temperaments did not seem to fully explain it. 
Neither did contrary religious views. Peter felt 


40 


Peter Bosten 


that it was, perhaps, a biological affinitization, more 
nearly explainable from the evolutionist's viewpoint 
than iany other ; but even then it was, like miracles, 
not susceptible of complete analysis. 

“Noel is thankful to his god for faith. Let me be 
thankful to my God for this friendship." 

Peter thus soliloquized as he walked toward the 
garage where his Ford awaited him. 

The little machine was in good condition, and he 
had learned to operate it safely. As he sailed down 
Grandview Avenue, in the direction of a well-known 
bungalow, he could not but feel that, with all its 
gloom and mystery, life was worth while. And, with 
these emotions that played around the heart at 
thought of a woman, he concluded that life in any 
age, however primeval, must be a joy. 

This reflection gave birth to others, chief among 
which was a query concerning the thing called hap- 
piness. Did not the savage, the eater of raw meat 
and the slayer of his fellows, feel thrills very similar 
to those that he, Peter Bosten, now experienced, in 
thinking of a loved one and anticipating a meeting? 
Undoubtedly. Then to what extent were such joy- 
pangs the product of mind? How about the beast 
of the fleld? Did not he, also, know something of 
physical affection? Nay, more; did he not choose, 
with unerring instinct, a favorite from the herd? 


Religion {and Love 


41 


Few of the pedestrians on Grandview Avenue who 
saw a well-dressed young gentleman speeding in a 
motor car would have even remotely associated him 
with such ponderous cogitations, perhaps ; but never- 
theless, Peter wrestled with thought as he sped along. 
And through and behind his musings echoed phrases 
and sentences of NoeFs. 

After all, might not he, Peter, be the fool and Noel 
the wise man? Who could tell? 

Peter sighed. 

Did Noel Crayne, after all, really know what he 
claimed to know? Had he the assurance of truth, 
which, according to Mr. Leader's sermon to-day, 
went with the right kind of faith? If so, why was 
not this faith, this comforter, vouchsafed to every 
earnest inquirer? Why did not he, Peter Bosten, 
possess it? Surely a kind, loving, all- wise God 
could not be offended at him for refraining from a 
prayer that led to hysterics? 

‘‘Is there something the matter with my brain?" 
Peter wondered. “Is faith a biological impossibility 
with me? Am I centuries, eons, behind Noel Crayne 
in the scale of life? Do I lack the ‘spiritual faculty’ 
of which religionists make so much capital?" 

With untiring mental vigor he kept up the discus- 
sion in his brain until a familiar figure waved to 


42 


Peter Bosten 


him from the veranda of a bungalow, and sigrnaled 
that she would be out immediately. 

The sight of her set his mind at rest; and when 
she came near and he felt her happy, glorious pres- 
ence, he congratulated the universe on its work. 
Whoever the Creator was, the created was a thing 
of beauty for ever; made to impart life and happi- 
ness. Peter did not know whence she came. Indeed, 
he did not care to know, while with her. This femi- 
nine being was the arc that had long been missing 
from his circle : now the circle was complete. What 
did reasonings and abstractions matter? Here was 
something concrete, undeniably good, unquestionably 
necessary, infinitely desirable. 

‘Teter,” she said, in the very voice one would have 
expected to accompany those vivacious features, “you 
look at me but you don't say anything." 

He reached for the brake-lever, but somehow or 
other his hand went astray ; and returning her gaze, 
this time without the “blank look,” of which she 
often complained, he exclaimed : 

“I was thinking of you so hard, Helen, that I for- 
got to speak. What shall I say, — something about 
the weather? By the way, do you want to run this 
jitney?” 

“No, no, you do. When I drive, you go away off 


Religion md Love 


43 


into space and overlook me entirely. The wheel 
seems to help me keep you down to earth.'’ 

'That’s where I want to be,” he returned, gal- 
lantly, "when you’re here.” 

She tossed her head a little, to make it appear that 
she did not like such sentiments; but Peter felt no 
pangs of remorse over what he had said : which goes 
to show what strides he was making in some of the 
gentler arts. 

They talked little as the machine bore them swiftly 
along. By and by, they knew, a shady rural spot 
would come into view ; and there they would rest, as 
was their custom. 

As they turned eastward from Grandview Avenue 
they passed two strollers who waved at them. 

"Who were they?” asked Peter, looking back over 
his shoulder. 

"Allan Leader,” replied Helen, "and Adele 
Cressy.” 

"Adele Cressy!” 

“Yes, — why? You seem surprised.” 

"So I am. I didn’t think she would ever be at- 
tracted to a fellow like Allan.” 

"Do you think she is any better than he is, Peter?” 

"Better? No, certainly not. I was thinking of 
the superficial aspect of it. She is a girl of peculiar 


44 


Peter Bosten 


charm. Allan is a rough-and-ready sort. She is 
fastidious; he is not.” 

Helen smiled. 

“You seem to forget that a girl sometimes does a 
thing without any particular reason. This is prob- 
ably a whim of Adele’s. You are always looking for 
the wherefore, aren't you?” 

He admitted that he was. 

“Even a whim, Helen, may be explained. It is an 
effect, not a cause.” 

“Look out, Mr. Metaphysician !” she cried, laying 
a hand on his arm. “Don't you see the mud puddle 
ahead?” 

They barely escaped a splashing, but Peter seemed 
unconcerned. 

“Do you know, Helen,” he went on, as though there 
had been no interruption, “I am somehow interested 
in those two people we passed. They are rather 
unique characters. I was more than surprised to 
hear Miss Cressy bear her testimony this morning. 
She seemed very much in earnest. Do you suppose 
it's her respect for Leader's efforts to do right that 
"■ attracted her to him to-day?” 

For some reason Helen did not reply. Presently 
Peter gave her a puzzled, comical look, but saw only 
a roguish expression in her eyes. It was not until 


Religion md Love 


45 


they had stopped the car and were reclining in the 
shade that she answered his question. 

“If you promise to dismiss Adele and Allan,” she 
observed, cautiously, “Fll tell you something.” 

He eagerly agreed, and was all attention. 

“Fm thinking, Peter, that she is trying to show 
a certain young and interesting man that other young 
men may also have their charms.” 

The Kansan whistled. 

“Girls are peculiar pieces of machinery. Fm won- 
dering who the other party is, Helen.” 

“Are you sure you don’t know?” 

“Certain.” 

“Then maybe I shouldn’t tell you. He will do so 
himself — you know him even better than I do, al- 
though I have known him longer than you.” 

Peter’s eyes widened. 

“Noel !” he exclaimed. 

Helen nodded. “Yes, and if you promise to keep 
the secret I’ll tell you something else. Adele’s regard 
for Noel is not entirely unreciprocated.” (Peter 
grinned at the long word, but she did not observe it.) 
“If it were not for Jessie — ” 

She did not finish; probably because aware that 
she had plunged her companion into reverie. He 
seemed not to notice that she had broken off the 
sentence. 


46 


Peter Bosten 


By and by, though, a question of hers gained the 
attention of all his faculties. 

"‘Peter,’’ she asked, her lids falling, “when are you 
going to be baptized ?” 


Kindred Spirits 


47 


CHAPTER III 
KINDRED SPIRITS 

Business transactions in Petit City, Peter found, 
were conducted precisely as they were elsewhere. 
Everybody was trying to make a profit out of some- 
body else ; some honestly, others dishonestly. There 
were members of NoeFs church in this town who did 
not scruple to employ tricks and falsehood in their 
quest of the dollar ; but Peter did not hold the actions 
of such against the church and its teachings. He 
knew there were good and bad in all denominations. 
Some men and women would disgrace almost any 
creed. 

Nevertheless, he wondered that the members of 
this particular church, with its lofty ideals and con- 
sistent principles, did not, as a mass, come nearer to 
the measure of such men as Noel Crayne. When 
they professed a belief in the Bible and God, why did 
they not make good their profession? In their own 
eyes they were better than outsiders, “the world.” 
Should not their superiority be more clearly percep- 
tible to a disinterested spectator like himself? 

Occasionally Peter caught himself wishing that 
the followers of “NoeFs church” would live better 
lives. He marveled, somewhat, at the wish. What 


48 


Peter Bosten 


did it matter to him? Why should he feel any more 
sympathy for one sect than another? 

His mind reverted to the first young folks’ prayer 
meeting he had attended. Again he heard the ear- 
nest prayers and testimonies of youths and maidens. 
Their voices thrilled him, as they had done that 
bright Sunday morning. Why was this ? 

Always the same answer came to him : Sincerity. 
These people were honestly trying to pattern their 
lives after the life of the man Christ. There was no 
denying the fact. And, Peter was convinced, they 
were trying harder than any denomination he had 
ever known. 

Of course, he did not attribute their sincerity to 
their faith. He believed they were what they were 
because of the mind-and-matter influences that lay 
behind them, far back in the past; and that they 
could surrender their creed without spiritual loss. 
But how should he explain the phenomenon of such 
universal sincerity, which existed regardless, it 
seemed, of mental status? Thus he answered him- 
self: The influence of strong, noble minds upon 
weaker ones. 

The dishonest, half-striving members here in Petit 
City were weak. Their sincerity was not of the 
highest quality, perhaps, but it corresponded with the 


Kindred Spirits 


49 


measure of their manhood and womanhood. These 
were helped along by the stronger characters. 

Here, Peter reflected, was the great argument for 
congregating. Nor had he ever heard of a church 
laying such stress upon material and spiritual coop- 
eration as this one. Petit City itself was a concrete 
example. They called it and the surrounding coun- 
try a sacred spot. They believed the time would 
come when they should have a splendid temple on 
the Temple Lot. They came from the ends of the 
earth to this corner of Missouri, because of their 
faith in the advantages of cooperation. They were 
not like many other such communities, however. 
They retained their individual rights and posses- 
sions, and their interest in their less fortunate broth- 
ers was purely voluntary. They believed in human 
free agency, under the direction of ‘'God's Spirit," as 
they termed the guiding influence; and used their 
reasoning faculties more than any other religionists 
Peter had known. Of course, as he viewed it, they 
were greatly hampered by their illusions concerning 
something of which they really knew nothing; but 
not so much as other sects. And they had the advan- 
tage of being consistent, in their belief, with the 
teachings of the Bible; believing not in a modern 
God, “without body, parts or passions," but in the 


50 


Peter Bosten 


living God of the Hebrews, and in Christ as the liv- 
ing flesh-and-blood Son of God. 

The Kansan enjoyed life in Petit City because of 
the very influence exercised by these two or more 
thousand members of NoeFs church. Like himself 
they were idealists. He had a fellow feeling for 
them. Had it not been for the intellectual interest 
he took in their affairs, their dreams and sweet il- 
lusions, he believed he would never have remained in 
the city. 

But stay, — there was Helen. Yet, was not she, too, 
one of Noel’s sisters? Moreover, might not his in- 
terest in her be, in some measure, associated with 
his regard for Noel and the church? Peter could 
not be sure. Of one thing he was sure, though : he 
loved her and would gladly give up bookkeeping to 
engage in heaving coal, — should anyone demonstrate 
that coal-heavers found themselves in a position to 
marry at twenty-four. 

Work in the office was irksome to the Kansan. He 
likened himself to an ant crawling around a dusty 
floor; a thing of infinitesimal consequence. What 
earthly sense was there in keeping accounts and 
typewriting letters? From the employer’s view, per- 
haps, it was rational. It was money the employer 
was after, and in order to get it he must keep books 
and send out accounts. But from the standpoint of 


Kindred Spirits 51 

the bookkeeper, what was there to it? The employee 
was after what? 

“Success,’’ society answered. 

“And what is success?” 

“A home, a wife, a family and an income.” 

“But,” objects Peter, “I fail to see where twelve 
dollars per week brings these fairy-like possessions 
any nearer to me. Consider what I give up for this 
salary? I surrender ten hours of the day, the strain 
of which obliges me to waste my evenings in phys- 
ical recreation. I give up my old friends, the books, 
and backslide intellectually and every other way as 
inevitably as the hands of the clock move forward.” 

Society could not reply to this statement of fact 
with anything resembling logic. But still Peter did 
not quit his position. He crushed down his ambition 
because of his love. It was the old story of Cupid’s 
domination. To move away from Petit City would 
be to separate himself from Helen — and Noel. He 
could endure to think of leaving the latter, much as 
he loved him ; but not the former. 

As he walked in the direction of Bishop Gamer’s 
office now, on a business errand for his firm, the 
Kansan discussed his situation for the second time 
this morning. In his heart he knew that he could 
never become vitally interested in business. Its 
smallness and its trickery nauseated him. In the 


52 


Peter Bosten 


business environment he breathed dust instead of 
Nature's free air, and looked through a sickly haze 
of money-mist upon a twisted world. There was no 
sunshine; there were no wings. One walked about 
mth leaden feet and heavy eyes, gazing stupidly 
upon the earth instead of into the heavens. 

Peter felt in his soul that one day he would revolt, 
and then there would be no going back. It was this 
conviction, no doubt, that m.ade him feel uncertain 
of Helen’s love. 

He might continue to look about him for a better 
place, he mused. Some one might happen to die and 
leave a desirable vacancy somewhere. Fate might 
just favor him in some such manner. But even then, 
what would the outcome be? Could he be happy, 
could he fulfill his mission on earth, (Peter had al- 
ways felt that he existed for some definite purpose : 
a nobler one, too, than would satisfy most of his 
fellows) ; could he give back to Helen what he had 
taken from her — with the constant burden of a soul- 
crushing vocation upon him ? While groveling in the 
dust of business could he soar with her o’er the 
upper planes? Or would he not daily see her spirit 
wilt, with his own, cramped and suffocated by a 
sordid environment, as he had known it to happen to 
many idealists? 

Peter knew he was what practical ones called a 


Kindred Spirits 


53 


“dreamer,” and that what satisfied the majority of 
men would never satisfy him. Nor did he consider 
it sensible to ignore this fact. He was not in the 
habit of ignoring facts. The only way to deal with 
them was to face them. He knew, too, that Helen 
Dyke was a dreamer. Her mind dwelt above the 
dust. Then why deceive himself into hoping that 
they could ever find happiness and usefulness to- 
gether in the ordinary channels of living? 

Another thing made him uncertain as to the out- 
come of his love. Their difference of faith. He re- 
called the beginning of their arguments — her asking 
him, several months before, when he intended to be 
baptized. He could not forget the look of disap- 
pointment that had come over her face when he ex- 
plained his views. A coldness bad crept between 
them ; and yet he could scarcely call it that. It was 
a psychological barrier, but one that sometimes broke 
down, for a while, under the impact of natural pas- 
sion-bursts. But each time Helen had recovered 
herself : instead of weakening her position these re- 
actions seemed to strengthen it. 

There was a group of men, “missionaries” Peter 
knew them to be, standing in front of the bishop's 
office. It was within a few days of General Con- 
ference — a convention that had prevailed in the 
church for half a century. Preachers and delegates 


54 


Peter Bosten 


came from Britain, Canada, Australia, Germany, all 
parts of America and even the South Seas to attend 
this conference. 

Peter's business necessitated a personal interview 
with Bishop Gamer; and for the first time he had 
the pleasure of appraising the bishop's personality. 

He was a man of simple, quiet speech, and kindly 
mien. One felt at home in his presence. He did not 
swell and expostulate, as the Kansan had feared 
bishops might do; but talked to the point, even in- 
jecting a joke; and ended, as his habit was, with a 
sincere good wish. 

The office was half filled with preachers; strong- 
faced men mostly. It was evident that this annual 
meeting was the joy of their lives. For months, 
perhaps years, they carried their gospel into distant 
places, struggling against prejudice and poverty, 
looking forward firstly to heaven and secondly to 
General Conference. And when they got together 
they reveled in intellectual and social joys. 

Peter half envied them. Certainly he respected 
them. They were idealists all; but idealists who 
would not countenance defeat. The last thing in the 
world they thought of was money : Money, the thing 
for which the majority of men damned themselves 
and each other. They believed in certain principles, 
and these principles they preached, in highways and 


Kindred Spirits 


56 


byways, in suffering and sacrifice. Naught really 
mattered to them but their gospel and the salvation 
of the human family. 

Peter went back to his office disgusted with him- 
self. Whether these missionaries were right or 
wrong, they were stronger men than he. They did 
not compromise with selfishness and pleasure. They 
left their homes and loved ones to obey the message 
of their Christ : '‘Go ye into all the world and preach 
the gospel to every creature."' 

Peter temporarily forgot his own affairs in think- 
ing of the lives of these followers of Noel's religion. 
All day his mind dwelt upon them; and when he 
arrived home for supper he found a further collec- 
tion of them enjoying Mrs. Crayne's hospitality. 

The company was just beginning the meal when 
the Kansan entered. Noel apologized to him for not 
waiting, then introduced him to the five guests. 

Peter studied them as he ate in silence, and soon 
decided that they were remarkable types. There 
were an Englishman, with flashing black eyes and an 
eloquent tongue; a Yankee, with an intellectual fore- 
head and a Puritanic mien ; a Scotch-Canadian, who 
spoke well-thought-out words and rolled his "r's"; 
and two Westerners, Rollins and Chapman : the for- 
mer evidently fond of hearing his own voice; the 


56 


Peter Bosten 


latter a rough-and-ready, Buffalo-Bill sort of indi- 
vidual, full of wit and laughter. 

Peter decided that he liked all of them, with the 
exception of Rollins. Rollins struck him as being 
insincere; although he was mild of speech and had 
a certain pleasing manner, his voice did not ring 
true. 

The Kansan expected to hear a theological dis- 
cussion, for here were men from important places 
in the church, who did not meet each other very 
often and must have ideas to exchange. But they 
did not touch upon religion at all. Instead, they 
discussed the questions of the day ; politics, national 
and intemational ; science, invention, and literature. 
Peter was surprised and delighted with their breadth 
of vision. He secretly hailed them as brothers, in 
spite of their religious views. They were men of 
ideals and ideas; dreamers, but active dreamers; 
thinkers and doers. But, best of all, they took them- 
selves seriously. 

Peter had no patience with that school of egotists 
who ridiculed the serious-minded. Was not life a 
serious matter? If not, then why not be done with 
it as quickly as possible ; perform the one consistent 
act of suicide? 

'Mr. Chapman amused himself by poking fun at 
Mr. Rollins, while the Englishman and the Scotch- 


Kindred Spirits 


57 


Canadian debated a matter of British Imperial 
policy. Needless to say Peter followed the latter. 
Once he caught a somewhat cynical smile on the 
Yankee's face, and wondered at it. Later he was 
enlightened when this descendant of Puritans con- 
demned royalty and imperialism in such pointed 
phrases that both the other controversialists came 
to a full stop and generously admitted their inability 
to answer him. 

The Yankee then reminded his brothers that they 
were ignoring certain members of the company, 
whereat the big Canadian, Murdoch, rolled out an 
apology and hurled a question at the speechless Kan- 
san. 

'T take it you are a Missourian, Mr. Bosten," he 
said. ‘‘What do you think of the Kansas agricultural 
and prohibition movements?" 

Peter explained that he was a Kansan, and put his 
views on the questions mentioned into concise form. 
Immediately, he discovered, he had the attention of 
all present. Even Rollins looked interested. 

But in the course of his remarks he made a state- 
ment involving the charge of overzeal, and it was 
mildly challenged by the Englishman. 

“Do you think," he asked, “that we can be too 
zealous in a good cause?" 

“Well," said Peter, “our very zeal itself may per- 


58 


Peter Bosten 


vert the goodness, and then the cause is a bad one.’’ 

The Canadian voiced a laugh similar to Noel’s, 
and with a smile the Yankee asked for a clearer 
elucidation of the point. 

“Take the cause of Christianity, for instance,” 
Peter went on, aware that he was throwing down the 
gauntlet against big odds. “For argument’s sake 
we will admit it is a worthy one. You gentlemen 
believe it is; and so do I, though I leave the divine 
out of it. Now, has not the zeal of its advocates, ac- 
cording to the teachings of your church, resulted in 
innumerable human additions to and subtractions 
from the original gospel of Christ?” 

The Canadian deferred to the Englishman. 

“I grant you that,” said the latter. “But I ask 
you what was the nature of this zeal?” 

“Religious,” was the instant reply. 

“And what do you mean by ‘religious,’ may I ask?” 
the Yankee, Fraser, put in. 

“Affecting man’s conduct before a supposed Cre- 
ator,” Peter defined. “And since man interprets this 
conduct according to his own mind, it differs as the 
minds of men differ. In other words, man makes his 
religion, and, naturally, makes it to please himself. 
Moreover, if his zeal in this creed^making is stronger 
than his human desire to deal justly with his fellow 
creatures, he will do great damage — ^yet be unaware 


Kindred Spirits 


59 


of it because of the abnormal condition of his mind. 
I refer you to the Inquisition and other diabolical 
feats of so-called children of God.^’ 

NoeFs face was glowing with interest, and he gave 
Peter an encouraging smile. Mrs. Crayne, too, was 
greatly pleased. It was their belief that so long as 
a nonmember encouraged legitimate argument there 
was hope for him. 

Three of the missionaries exchanged smiles indi- 
cating intellectual appreciation. They even included 
the Kansan in their approving glances. 

“Go after him, Roland,” said Murdoch to the 
Yankee, grinning good-naturedly. 

“Mr. Bosten” — ^the Easterner instantly acted on 
the hint, — “I’m going to take sides with you. Hu- 
man zeal is a foolish thing, very often. My brothers 
here have been leading you on : they believe as you 
do. The point that remains to be made is this: 
without the love and understanding of the Spirit of 
God in our hearts, our activities are in vain. This 
church meets the world on that very issue. And as 
you are evidently a logician I will not beat about the 
bush. We believe the fullness of God’s Spirit is ob- 
tainable in only one way: by obeying his gospel.” 

Peter nodded understanding^. 

“There is where I admire you people,” he de- 
clared. “You do not equivocate, but boldly assert 


60 


Peter Bosten 


your convictions; and I must say, if a man believes 
the Scriptures he must heed your claims. I think 
your church preaches the nearest thing to real re- 
ligion that I know. You claim that the gospel has 
been restored to earth, by miraculous means; that 
miracles still continue, and that God is unchange- 
able. There you render other sects inconsistent. 
You have the org'anization of the Christ church, 
apostles and all; and in innumerable ways you are 
consistent with those principles which you claim to 
be eternal and changeless. But you see, I do not 
accept any religion at all; I reject the Bible as the 
poetical record of an egotistical race ; I do not believe 
in prayer. In fact, I am what they call an agnostic. 
Now, what I want to know is this : What do you do 
with an individual like myself? If your church can 
not dispose of me, none can.’’ 

Mr. Chapman drawled out a reply; but twinkling 
eyes belied his sober face. 

“My dear boy,'' he said, “you are damned beyond 
all hope. Fire and brimstone await you." 

The Puritan laughed outright, for the first time. 

“Do be serous, Chapman," he begged. “Answer 
Mr. Bosten yourself. I don't believe you can." 

A fighting light illuminated the old veteran's face, 
and ignoring his brothers he turned to the Kansan. 

“My friend," he said, “your views may strike you 


Kindred Spirits 


61 


as being original, but believe me they are as old as 
the hills.’^ The speaker paused, and Peter put in: 

“But their age is not an argument against their 
logic.” 

“True.” The Westerner opened his eyes wider. 
“Say,” he smiled, “you have a keen brain, by George 
you have !” Turning to Noel. “Where did you pick 
him up, Noel?” 

Peter was not in the least offended by this remark. 
He knew the ways of such pioneers as Mr. Chapman ; 
knew that beneath their crude surface precious gold 
was often found. 

“He comes from a Kansas farm,” replied Noel, 
glancing at his friend. 

“That accounts for it,” said Chapman. “But com- 
ing back to the point, Mr. Boston. What I wanted to 
say, when you tripped me up, was that there is no 
way of answering what we call an infidel. Those 
who believe in Christ and those who do not, talk 
different languages. Spiritual things are spiritually 
discerned; and they are not comprehensible to the 
carnal mind.” 

“But,” Peter objected, “religionists have done un- 
speakable things on that same hypothesis, since the 
beginning of time. The Buddhist mother sacrifices 
her child to the flames. When we rationalists object. 


62 


Peter Bosten 


on humanitarian grounds, the only answer we get is 
a metaphysical one.” 

The Westerner whistled, good-humoredly. 

^'Brother Rexton,” he said, turning to the Brit- 
isher, *T turn him over to you. He^s a psychologist : 
and I never went beyond public school myself.” 

Mr. Rexton showed no signs of gratification at 
being thus appealed to. His eyes became more seri- 
ous as he looked frankly at the nonbeliever. 

“We all have finite minds, Mr. Bosten.” He spoke 
pensively. “We can not find out God by digging in 
the earth with these hands of clay or peering into 
limitless space with these mortal eyes. We must 
have faith.” 

“Pardon me, Mr. Rexton,” Peter interrupted, “but 
you must remember that what is argument to a re- 
ligionist is mere assumption to me. You have made 
an unproved assertion.” 

The apostle, for such he was in that church, 
nodded. 

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “You are right. 
But nevertheless it is all I can do. As Brother Chap^ 
man remarked, your school and mine speak in dif- 
ferent tongues. I only know that once I, too, thought 
as you do. But when I heard the gospel it appealed 
to me, I was going to say, almost against my reason ; 
and the more I know of it the better I love it. I 


Kindred Spirits 


68 


know that I am but a child in it yet; but it offers 
endless opportunities for advancement; moral, in- 
tellectual, spiritual. And I hope I may live to bring 
many honest hearts into it.'’ 

Peter was silent. As he had, so many times be- 
fore when Noel was speaking, experienced a peculiar 
thrill, so did he now. He explained it to himself 
thus : The sincerity of these people is overwhelming. 
I love them for it. Yet, as the universe is my wit- 
ness, I can not believe as they do. This thrill I feel 
in their presence is a human emotion, which I can 
not comprehend any more than I comprehend my 
love for Helen. One day, perhaps, everything will 
be understandable to me. 

‘"Gentlemen," he said, respecting them for the si- 
lence they had maintained awaiting his reply, ‘T 
believe you are all honorable men, and therefore I 
admire you. But our minds have not been cast in 
the same mold, I am afraid. Maybe we shall see 
things more clearly in the next state of being, what- 
ever it shall be." 

Peter chanced to look toward Mrs. Crayne, and 
was surprised to see a tear in her eye. She brushed 
it away embarrassedly, and passed Mr. Rollins the 
sugar. 

Although the Kansan felt that it must be apparent 
to these lights of the church that they had been 


64 


Peter Bosten 


worsted in argument, he was aware of no coldness 
or “ecclesiastical suspicion’' (he coined the phrase 
on the moment, thinking of disputes with certain 
professors in a Kansas university) , on their part. 
Rather, he realized that his sentiments had made 
these missionaries his friends. In spite of their 
belief that he was groping in the dark, they treated 
him as a peer ; and he could read in their very man- 
ner a charitable desire to free him from the bonds 
of doubt and make him a brother in spirit. 

Peter meditated on this disposition toward “out- 
siders” that characterized great and small in Noel’s 
church. The faith of fools and religious humbugs 
might be a detestable, la disastrous thing; but what 
of this brand of faith, exemplified in the lives of 
Noel’s “brothers,” so generously mixed with religious 
toleration and “Christian” charity? Might there 
not, after all, be something to it? And if there were, 
how far from the truth must he, Peter Bosten, be! 

After supper the Canadian missionary drew him 
aside. 

“I promise not to involve you in any long discus- 
sion,” he apologized ; “but I’m really curious to know, 
Mr. Bosten, how you got started thinking along the 
lines you do.” 

“Well,” the Kansan answered, “it would be hard 
to say; but I’m afraid the notorious Voltaire was 


Kindred S2nrits 


65 


one of my early inspirations. I shall always remem- 
ber a quotation he makes from Aristotle : ‘Incredulity 
is the foundation of all knowledge.’ Don’t you think 
that is a logical statement? It has always guided 
me.” 

Murdoch repeated it in an undertone. 

“I am familiar with the sentiment,” he replied, 
“but not the phrasing. Yes, from a purely human 
viewpoint it is convincing. But it ignores the di- 
vine.” 

“The point of separation — divinity,” said Peter. 

“Yes,” returned the Canadian; “that’s it. The 
dividing line.” 

One of the other preachers approached Peter. It 
was Rollins. 

“Young man,” he said, half playfully, “if I were 
you I’d go to God in prayer and ask him for light.” 

For the first time in the evening the Kansan felt 
resentment. He knew now, definitely, that he did 
not like this man. 

“Mr. Rollins,” he replied, “why ask God for light 
when I have his servants here to inform me? I 
noticed you didn’t take up any of my challenges at 
the table.” 

Color crept into the missionary’s face. 

“I always defer to those in higher authority,” he 
said. “It is the only way to do in this world. I 


66 


Peter Bosten 


recommend such action to all those, especially, who 
set themselves up as judges of what is holy/' 

Peter moved away from this gentleman, who 
seemed a more conventional member of that body, 
the clergy, than any preacher of Noel's church thus 
far encountered. 

When the guests had gone, Mrs. Crayne busied 
herself with the dishes, refusing to allow the boys 
to help her ; and Noel and Peter sought their favorite 
seats on the veranda. Not to smoke and peruse the 
sporting extra, as a hundred young men were doing 
on the same street; but to enjoy each other's conver- 
sation, and, maybe, take one of their accustomed 
flights above the smoke and dust of earth. 

Noel was anxious to know how his friend liked 
the visitors. Peter was giving an interested, per- 
sonal analysis of each when a figure passed down 
the walk, distracting Noel's attention. 

For several minutes thereafter the Missourian was 
distraught, and Peter recalled what Helen had told 
him on one of their motor excursions. 

'‘A penny for your thoughts, Noel?" 

The remark startled the dreamer out of his dream, 
and he faced a malicious grin. 

'‘And I want the truth, remember," Peter per- 
sisted. 

Noel did something decidedly original — ^for him. 


Kindred Spirits 


67 


He glanced around to make sure no one should wit- 
ness his act, then drew his chair closer to the Kan- 
san's. 

‘Teter," he said, in an undertone, ‘'you are a 
clear-eyed fellow. Tell me, what do you think of 
Adele Cressy?" 

It was she who had just passed. The Kansan 
coughed comically. 

“Do you want my worst opinion or my best?" 

“Both." 

“All right. Here goes. Noel, she has always been 
something of a puzzle to me. I have watched her 
in the choir and in prayer meetings. I have studied 
the glances she has bestowed on you — now don't get 
excited. You know about them as well as I do. And 
can you guess my worst criticism of her?" 

The Missourian shook his head and waited. 

“It's this : she is inclined to be a coquette." 

“Oh, is that all?" 

“I think so, although I'm not quite sure. You 
didn't ask for facts, you know : just an opinion. And 
the best thing I can say about her is — " 

He paused. 

“Yes?" said Noel, eagerly. 

“ — that she's in love with you," Peter finished, 
facetiously. 

They called each other uncomplimentary things 


68 


Peter Bosten 


until epithets had lost their edge ; after which Noel 
made a singular confession. It had almost escaped 
him a score of times. Now it came out. 

“It may be an unmanly thing to say, Peter, but — 
well, I wouldn't tell anybody on earth but you. I 
feel sure that I love Jessie and that one day we shall 
marry. But in spite of this conviction, when Adele 
Cressy comes near me I get all excited, and, in short, 
act like a species of lunatic. I can't explain it." 

“Doesn't Jessie affect you like that, too?" 

“No, she doesn't. I have a happy, peaceful, se- 
cure feeling with her — until Adele comes along. And 
then I become abnormal — yes, it is not a normal sen- 
sation, surely." 

“I'll bet I know how you explain it to yourself, 
Noel." 

“How?" 

“You say that your passion for Adele is physical, 
and that for Jessie spiritual." 

“Exactly! How ever did you guess it?" 

“Because I know you — and your religious broth- 
ers. I refer to the members of your church. By 
Jove! you are a wonderful lot, I've got to admit it. 
Noel, if you belonged to any other denomination I’d 
predict that you would forsake Jessie for Adele. The 
question of religious duty would have no weight 
with you; or little, at any rate. But I am just as 


Kindred Spirits 


69 


sure you will marry Jessie as I am that you are a 
man in a million. It is inevitable.'' 

The Missourian looked long and bewilderedly at 
his friend. 

“Peter," he said, slowly, “I thank God we ever 
met." 

But the Kansan seemed not to hear. He was think- 
ing of Helen Dyke and of her allegiance to her faith ; 
wondering whither his own love would tend, and 
longing vainly for the impossible. 


70 


Peter Bosten 


CHAPTER IV 

THE DIVIDING LINE 

It was on the morning of the sixth of April that 
Peter met President Milton Stem, the head of the 
church. The Kansan was standing on the stone steps 
of the white stone edifice with Noel, admiring the 
Temple Lot, pink with peach blossoms, when a large, 
loosely-garbed figure approached; shouting, before 
he reached them : 

“Hello there Noel, old boy ! How goes the battle?'' 

The man had halted, to pick up something, and 
taking his friend by the sleeve Noel cried : “Come on, 
Peter, and let's stop him before he enters the church. 
I want you to meet him." 

Mr. Stern said to Peter, as they shook hands, that 
he was glad to make his acquaintance ; and Peter be- 
lieved it. But one thing was hard to believe: that 
this was the president of a church with a member- 
ship close to one hundred thousand ; or the president 
of any church, for that matter. 

While the other two conversed Peter stood aside 
and appraised Mr. Stern. He was over six feet tall, 
broad-shouldered, athletic. His hair needed cutting, 
his suit needed pressing and his shoes a shine. Yet 
he did not look in the least uncouth. Certainly he 
was a Westerner. The smell of the loam hovered 


The Dividing Line 


71 


about him. One would not have been surprised to 
see a bird come, any minute, and perch on his shoul- 
der. 

Contrary to his sense of the fitness of things Peter 
found himself thinking of heroes in Western dramas. 
They were not so overdrawn after all. He remem- 
bered, particularly, the play which foreign critics 
pronounced the greatest American drama: “The 
Great Divide.'’ Here was the flesh and blood of that 
story; not a New York actor dressed up to look like 
the real thing, but the real thing itself. Peter could 
still feel the rough pressure of his large hand, essen- 
tially a hand of toil, whatever form that toil might 
take. 

“You are in a hurry. Brother Stern,” said Noel, 
“I won’t keep you.” 

“Brother Stem,” Peter murmured. “They call 
him brother!” 

“All right, Noel. I’ll see you again. And you, too, 
Mr. Boston.” 

The name had not escaped him. He turned his 
eyes upon the Kansan and smiled. They were full, 
penetrating eyes, set in a large, almost pugnacious 
face. But the smile moderated the pugnacity — ^there 
was something decidedly boyish about it. 

Noel glanced at his friend when the president had 
disappeared. 


72 


Peter Bosten 


‘'Well, Peter, how does he strike you?’' 

“By Jove!” was the reply, “Pd hate to have him 
do it. But say, Noel, are you sure this is really 
President Stern? I can’t get over it.” 

Noel chuckled ; pleased that Peter was impressed. 

“What’s the matter with him?” 

“Nothing. Nothing. That’s the trouble. He 
ought to be sad-looking or gray-haired or lame. But 
he’s as fit as a prize fighter. He’s boyish. He’s 
jolly. Why, he’s the very kind of a pal I’d want on 
a long hobo trip. He’d help you clean up on a posse, 
and then sit down with you and philosophize on it. 
For he’s a philosopher; you can read it in his eyes. 
Those are strange eyes of his, Noel. They’re hyp- 
notic — do you know that? And I’ll wager he’s got 
a memory a mile long.” 

Peter paused a moment, but began again the mo- 
ment Noel opened his mouth. 

“I’m glad I met him, mighty glad. President Stern 
is a man clear through. I like him ; you bet I like 
him. ... He seems to think a whole lot of you, Noel?” 

“Not necessarily. He’s that way with everyone.” 

“Pardon me, but I don’t believe you. He may be 
tolerant ; but I can imagine him eating some of these 
little Christians of yours here alive.” 

“Why, Peter!” exclaimed the Missourian, “that’s 


The Dividing Line 73 

the first hard thing Fve heard you say about any of 
our people.” 

‘‘Well, Vm sorry if it sounds hard, Noel. But 
somehow or other Mr. Stern makes most of these 
other brothers of yours look small by contrast. I 
guess I am thinking of that fellow Rollins. I don’t 
like him. Do you?” 

But Noel evaded the question. The only time he 
ever proved evasive was in such an instance as this : 
where the interests of person and not principle were 
involved. Peter sat down on the steps, pensively. 

“We’ll have to move,” his friend observed, pres- 
ently. “Conference convenes this morning, you 
know, and the crowds will soon be pouring in.” 

“Yes,” the Kansan agreed. “This is the big day. 
I’m glad Pm here, Noel. It will be an experience 
for me.” 

“It may convert you,” grinned the Missourian. 

“Anything is possible, I suppose,” Peter returned, 
queerly. “The President may even challenge me to 
a wrestling match if I refuse to become a member.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first bout of the kind for him, 
either. In his youthful days he was champion of all 
the sports.” 

“Sounds like fiction,” Peter murmured, thinking 
of the intensely spiritual nature of this church’s doc- 
trines. . . . 


74 


Petei* Bosten 


Half an hour before the time appointed, the main 
auditorium of the church building began to fill, and 
when President Stern and his two counselors arose, 
as one man, to announce the opening prayer, there 
was no standing room left in the place. 

Noel and Peter occupied a seat in one of the wings, 
where they could see the faces of a greater part of 
the congregation and also of the many missionaries 
and other ministers on the large rostrum. Adam E. 
Stern, cousin of the President, and one of the “First 
Presidency,” offered the prayer. Peter observed 
that the extended hand trembled slightly, as did the 
speaker’s voice. Words full of soul and meaning 
for that congregation were being uttered, Peter 
knew; but although they stirred his emotions, too, 
they did not illuminate his mind, and he could not 
conscientiously murmur “amen” with the bowed 
heads around him. 

General business having gotten under way Noel 
began to point out conspicuous characters to his 
friend. Also, he explained the arrangement of the 
“priesthood,” naming the different sections in the 
order of their prominence. 

“You will find all the officers here that are named 
in the New Testament,” Noel declared. “Our or- 
ganization is complete.” 

“So I believe,” Peter returned. “It is certainly 


The Dividing Line 


75 


impressive. I like the second Mr. Stern. Do you 
know of whom he makes me think, Noel?’’ 

“No ; I can't say." 

“Doesn’t he remind you of a great character in 
religious history?" 

Noel thought a moment. 

“You are thinking of the Christ?" 

“Yes," Peter admitted. “The same sort of face, 
I imagine." 

“If one of our church members hinted at such a 
thing, can you conceive of the cries it would arouse, 
Peter?" 

“Very readily. That’s because most Christians 
take Christ’s character away from him when they 
condescend to worship him. Do you know, Noel, I 
hold that word ivorship in contempt. It is deceptive. 
And as for Jesus of Nazareth, a great reformer 
whom I admire beyond expression, but who has been 
grossly misrepresented, I think he would reject most 
of his professed followers to-day, should he come 
again, as he did the Jews." 

Noel agreed with him, and they turned their atten- 
tion to the President. He was making a ruling on a 
point of order. The masterly manner in which he 
did it commanded Peter’s admiration. 

“I knew his mind was like that," was the Kansan’s 
comment. . . . 


76 


Peter Bosten 


For three consecutive mornings the two friends 
sat in the same section of the main auditorium ; dur- 
ing which sessions Peter was provided with material 
for months, even years, of reflection. He noted, with 
gratification, the freedom of speech accorded every 
member of the conference ; and took a keen interest 
in the discussions. Mind was pitted against mind, 
and there was no end of genuine eloquence. Once 
or twice there had been apparent a note of personal 
feeling; but in spite of heated arguments, when the 
business sessions ended and the President or his 
advisers offered the benediction, Peter had to admit 
that there was a splendid spiritual harmony through- 
out. And, he realized, it was based upon the unity 
of their faith ; aye, deeper, of their love. He called 
it a “psychological phenomenon.^’ 

The event to which the Kansan looked forward 
more than anything else was the first Sunday morn- 
ing preaching service, for Milton Stern was an- 
nounced as the speaker. As there were many visiting 
singers, anxious to display their powers, Peter begged 
Bertha Kirkton to release him from the choir, and, 
with some embarrassment, obtained the same favor 
for Helen Dyke. 

He sat with her out in front, where he could look 
the preacher in the face and weigh every sentence. 
It was clear to him that Helen approved of his in- 


The Dividing Line 


77 


terest, and hoped for something as a result of the 
sermon ; for he had told her of his impressions about 
Mr. Stern, eliciting the reply from her: '‘A mind 
like yours will never be able to resist his mind, when 
it is backed by inspiration.” 

Helen made a practice of ignoring his skepticism 
and speaking to him as though he were a member of 
the church, which amused Peter considerably. She 
refused to debate with him on metaphysical grounds, 
not because she lacked intellect, but because she be- 
lieved in the power of psychic suggestion as well as 
faith. Peter often twitted her on her attempts to 
“hypnotize” him, but invariably failed to involve her 
in a discussion that ignored the principle of belief in 
the divine. 

He knew as he sat beside her this morning, wait- 
ing for President Stem to rise, that she counted on 
the “power of the Spirit” to aid the speaker in im- 
pressing a hostile mind; but Peter did not for- 
tify his thoughts against possible impressions. 
He felt that he should welcome them, providing 
they appealed to his reason; and besides, the face 
of the big man before him, bended as it was 
over a book in his hand, reassured the Kansan 
against poetical illusions and sacred platitudes. He 
knew that what would be presented for his consid- 
eration would be worthy of any man’s consideration. 


78 


Peter Bosten 


His knowledge was based upon observation and char- 
acter insight. 

While the assisting pastor was making some an- 
nouncements Helen whispered to her companion that 
he must not expect too much, in the way of oratory, 
as the President was not considered so stirring a 
speaker as one or two of the Twelve, particularly 
John Leader. 

'‘Some even consider him a trifle cold and aca- 
demic,” she admitted. 

"Thank goodness for that,” Peter murmured ; won- 
dering, it must be confessed, if she had had a par- 
tial reaction against "inspiration.” "Fll hear some- 
thing logical, then.” 

The Kansan was not mistaken. Nor was he dis- 
appointed. But he was not thrilled in the same man- 
ner as when Adam Stem had prayed the opening 
prayer of the conference. 

He listened to a sermon that lifted his mind into 
noble planes of thought ; that showed him visions of 
the infinite, and yet intentionally fell short of specu- 
lations concerning the unknown. Of course, the Presi- 
dent made faith in God and communication with the 
Divine a cardinal element in his argument, but he 
enlarged the conception Peter had had of this faith ; 
made it, in some mysterious manner, more acceptable 
to the analytical brain. 


The Dividing Line 


79 


The chief thought in Peter's subconscious mind, 
as he listened to the strong even tide of Mr. Stern's 
sermon, was that there must be some reason for the 
faith of a man of this caliber. The speaker was not 
of the type that is swayed by sentiment. His mus- 
cular jaws spoke of battle and his bulging forehead 
of tempestuous thoughts. He had not arrived at his 
present status of mind without an intense struggle ; 
of this the Kansan felt positive. But how did he 
manage to retain — ^how had he managed in the first 
place to secure — ^this faith of which he spoke, which 
was the faith of a hundred thousand souls? 

The question sat upon Peter heavily, but did not 
render him deaf to the speaker's train of thought. 
Obviously the sermon was directed to those inside 
the church. They were admonished to be guided by 
their better selves, and renounce mental and moral 
slavery of every sort. They were treated not as a 
mass of unthinking creatures who must rely upon the 
clergy and obey them, but as rational though faith- 
ful beings who must fight out their own salvation, 
under the guidance of God and the weak instru- 
ments he used to perform his work. They must not 
look for infallibility in the priesthood. Such blind- 
ness had always led to folly, in this and other ages. 
There must be no popery in this church. Let every 


80 


Peter Bosten 


man and woman look to the Creator as the fount of 
information and comfort, and to him alone. 

But even on this point the President showed his 
superiority of conception over the average mind. He 
pointed out man's duty to himself and his fellow man 
regardless of divine revelation. 

“There are certain interpretations which each of 
us must make upon the law of God, daily, in our own 
little lives," he said. “Interpretations affecting not 
fundamentals, but the application of what we may 
term ‘minor' gospel principles bearing upon special 
situations that confront us constantly. And here we 
must be guided by our conception of common recti- 
tude ; our common sense, if you will. We must exer- 
cise our judgment, try out our ideals, and be active, 
not passive, in the great evolving universe of God." 

The speaker closed the avenues of individual ego- 
tism by making each of his hearers acutely conscious 
of the rights of his fellow creatures, material and 
moral; but at the same time showed the way to a 
fuller enjoyment of legitimate free agency and the 
laudable exercise of human initiative. 

The sermon came abruptly to an end, and the Kan- 
san was conscious of waiting for something — he 
scarcely knew what. A glance at Helen told him she 
was rather disappointed, and Peter wondered if she 
had caught the expression of his face. 


The Dividing Line 


81 


While more announcements were being read and 
an anthem sung Peter searched his mind for a clew 
to the sensation of incompleteness of which he was 
aware. And by and by, he thought, he found it. 
There was but one missing link — yet it broke the 
chain. He had agreed with President Stem on every 
point, followed him eagerly ; even anticipated him at 
times ; and had been earnestly desiring to reach the 
same conclusions as the speaker. But when he 
(Stem) had taken both ends of the chain and welded 
them together, and Peter had essayed to do the same 
with a like chain of his own, the latter found a link 
missing. The link was Faith. 

Peter felt queerly disappointed. Minds like this 
man’s were rare. It would be a joy to share his 
views; nay, something more than a joy. 

But that might never be. The Kansan sighed as 
he followed Helen mechanically up the aisle. 

On the street the first words she addressed to him 
were: 

‘T’m afraid you were disappointed, Peter. I know 
I was.” 

“On the contrary, Helen,” he returned, “it was the 
finest series of utterances I ever heard from the pul- 
pit. There was personality and logic behind it.” 

She was silent a moment. 

“I don’t like to criticize such a fine man as Brother 


82 


Peter Bosten 


Stem/’ she observed, thoughtfully, '‘but I really do 
think the Spirit was not with him to any extent this 
morning/’ 

The Kansan smiled oddly. 

“He was not emotional, Helen, if that’s what you 
mean.” 

A rebuking glance was his punishment for this 
remark. 

“To-night,” she said, “we will hear Brother Leader 
again. The whole conference is waiting for it.” 

Peter experienced a species of resentment. 

“Helen,” he spoke seriously, “I don’t think Mr. 
Stem is fully appreciated — with all due respect to 
your church. He comes nearer to making God com- 
prehensible to me than any preacher I have ever 
heard or read. But even he has failed. I can’t be- 
lieve, Helen ; I can not. And in my present state of 
mind I don’t think Mr. Leader’s eloquence would 
appeal to me. It is not of the character of Stern’s, 
although I can not explain the distinction in words.” 

“You mean that you don’t care to come out to- 
night?” 

They were walking down Grandview Avenue. 

“I — ^well, — yes, Helen. I should like to spend the 
evening with you, if you don’t mind. I have some- 
thing to tell you — something that has been on my 
mind for a long while.” 


The Dividing Line 83 

He observed that some of the color left her cheeks 
as she replied : 

“Peter, unless you open your eyes to the light of 
truth, and humble yourself before God, I think it 
better that you should — that vre should — 

She broke off, and the tears came into her eyes. 

“You mean that unless I learn to see as you do, 
love must cease betvreen us?'' 

He felt his heart instinctively hardening to fortify 
him for the ordeal, and found it impossible to say 
what he wanted to, exactly, in the way he wanted to. 

She nodded, and dabbed at her cheeks with a tiny 
handkerchief. The movement, insignificant though 
it looked, nevertheless caused a great flood of anguish 
to sweep over the Kansan. He was carried back to 
their first meeting, and the innumerable happy times 
they had spent together, over country roads and 
upon lake vraters. This was the one woman for him ; 
her every grace proclaimed the fact : and yet a chasm 
had opened up between their souls and widened with 
the passing of the weeks. 

“Helen," he asked, after an awkward pause, 
his masculine nature brutally asserting itself in spite 
of his crying it down, “would you rather listen to 
Mr. Leader's sermon to-night than to what I have 
to tell you?" 


84 


Peter Bosten 


She had conquered her emotion and was meeting 
his gaze now with feminine pride. 

''Some things are a matter of choice,” she returned ; 
"others a matter of duty.” 

"You are fencing,” he said, "Which do you intend 
to do?” 

"You are unfair,” she answered. "You place me 
in a dilemma and then torment me.” 

He was struck with the justice of her accusation. 

"I ask your forgiveness.” He spoke humbly. 
"Helen, dear, let’s not quarrel. I will go with you 
to-night, but you must see that there is no hope for 
me as a Christian. I am essentially a nonbeliever. 
Yet would I never interfere with your faith. Must 
this question of religion blight our lives?” 

They had chosen a shady spot on the grass at the 
southern extremity of the Temple Lot. She raised 
her mysterious eyes to his and answered : 

"There must be something wrong with you, Peter, 
or you would believe. The gospel of Christ is beau- 
tiful, — when you have it in its fullness. You are 
blind, and I am afraid you are intentionally so.” 

This accusation hurt him, because he believed it 
to be unjust. He was silent, weighed down by the 
burdens of his mind. 

"The time may come when you will see your stub- 
bornness and your hardness of heart, Peter. When 


The Dividing Line 


85 


it does (I say ‘when’ because I believe it will come) 
then you may tell me what you wish to tell. But it 
would not be right for me to listen now.” 

He tried to reply, but the words stuck in his throat. 
There was a pang in his soul, ^nd he wanted to get 
away by himself. He had not realized before how 
vital a thing Helen’s faith was. He knew she loved 
him, but he also knew, now, that she would give him 
up in preference to her religion. 

Peter, the agnostic, grew bitter at the thought of 
it. The best he had to give was cast aside for an 
illusion ; a belief at best. 

The spirit of President Stem’s sermon came to 
him; the human not the “divine” spirit. Now it 
dawned on him what had been so compelling about 
it : the element of mortal uncertainty that ran 
through it. In the efforts of such men as Leader this 
human doubt was not apparent; it was swallowed 
up in swaying eloquence. But into the language of 
the great-minded Stern, the individual who was more 
a man than a preacher, had crept this honest strain 
of agnosticism. It was the thing that made the ser- 
mon “cold” to such thinkers and believers as Helen 
and the rest ; but logical to minds like the Kansan’s. 

But there was no such element in Helen’s faith. 
She set herself up as her lover’s judge, so it seemed 


86 


Peter Bosten 


to Peter, as unhesitatingly as she had criticized the 
unappreciated President's sermon. 

Helen, the girl he loved, had become an egotist to 
him. He resented her attitude, bitterly. 

“If you had the faith you profess," he said, after 
considerable reflection and in a voice that had again 
lost its warmth, “you would not fear me, or fear to 
associate with me, — even marry me. Unless," he 
added, “you doubted my sincerity. Is that it, 
Helen?" She did not reply and he interpreted her 
silence as consent. 

This was a deep thrust. He experienced a strange 
soul reaction under the pain of it. He wanted to stay 
with her and fight it out, but her manner somehow 
took the heart out of him. 

She did not, in the last analysis, really believe in 
him at all. This was the unwelcome conclusion he 
reached. She told him he was “blind," where, in 
reality, she meant that he was insincere. 

“Do you mind if I let you walk the rest of the way 
home alone?" he asked, forcing a half smile. 

The request seemed natural enough. There might 
be any number of reasons for it. Nevertheless Helen 
looked at him queerly as she gave him leave. And 
a moment after he had gone her eyes filled with tears. 

Peter would have welcomed such relief himself; 
but he came from a race of men who hated sentiment, 


The Dividing Line 


87 


so he merely compressed his lips and walked straight 
ahead, struggling against a passion of suffering that 
seemed half physical. 

Far down the avenue, Helen turned to look after 
him ; but the Kansan did not once glance behind. . . . 

Peter did not see Helen again, at close range, dur- 
ing the conference ; but an adventure, or rather the 
beginning of one, befell him that made it imperative 
for him to look her up. Believing her to be in the 
wrong he had been waiting for a note of apology; 
but, although it had not come, he must see her now. 

As he walked down Grandview Avenue in the di- 
rection of a well-known bungalow his thoughts were 
divided between speculations concerning Helen's 
state of mind, and the singular chain of incidents 
that had encircled his life since coming to Petit City. 
He recalled the last item of conference proceedings : 
the assignment of missions : wherein his friend, Noel, 
had been ordained and assigned to the Maritime 
Provinces, Canada; and another friend, a Mr. Day, 
to the South Sea Islands. It was all so strangely 
romantic — so thoroughly in harmony with his own 
year's experience in this ''city of saints." 

His heart beat faster as he ascended the steps of 
the bungalow. He had not spoken to Helen for more 
than a week. Surely their meeting would be sw^eet. 


88 


Peter Bosten 


No modern girl would continue to estrange herself 
from love for the sake of religion. It was too me- 
dieval, too moniasterial. 

Nevertheless, the Kansan was disappointed. He 
found that Helen had left town with some conference 
friends, and would be away for months. 

He turned away heartsick and walked back toward 
Walton Street, wondering why she had not so much 
as said good-by. A letter awaited him, however. 
He read it mechanically. 

''Dear Peter: 

“You will forgive me for going away without 
seeing you ; but I really think it for the best. There 
can be no love between us, so long as you reject the 
gospel. I have seen too many girls’ hearts broken 
over religious differences to venture on dangerous 
ground myself, however alluring the present may 
seem. 

“Some day we shall meet again. Then, I pray, you 
will be of a different mind about God. 

“General delivery, Denver, will reach me for the 
next two weeks. “Yours sincerely, 

“Helen.” 

Again in his room the Kansan read the letter, then 
he crushed it passionately in his palm and threw it 
in the wastebasket. A few minutes later he sat 


The Dividing Line 89 

down to his writing table and hurriedly wrote the 
following lines: 

''Dear Helen: You may have things as you wish. 
It is women like you and ideas like yours that have 
sent many a man to hell. But do not flatter yourself 
that I will go there — even though I am an unbeliever. 
I think I shall be able to get along without you or 
your religion, and still retain my respectability. 

“One of your missionaries introduced me to a 
Brooklyn newspaper man, who had come to the con- 
ference on his vacation and with whom I had a long 
conversation. He offered me a place in the advertis- 
ing department of his newspaper, and, without know- 
ing just how you were feeling, I accepted it. I am 
to go East at once. So you see, I am not so broken 
up as I might be. “Good-by, 

“Peter. 

“P. S. You sign yourself 'sincerely,' but I pre- 
sume I have no right to do so, lacking faith as I do." 

Peter did not read the letter over before mailing 
it. He felt that he had said something that would 
hurt, and did not wish to ease, in revision, the smart 
of a single sentence. A moment after posting the 
letter he had a revulsion of feeling, but cried it down 
and set about packing his things for New York. 


90 


Peter Bosten 


CHAPTER V 
''the boy preacher'' 

A DARK young man and a fair young woman sat 
in a Pullman speeding over the Burlington route, 
northeastward. A fresh breeze through the screened 
windows ruffled their hair, and enhanced the bright- 
ness of their eyes. 

Noel Crayne was starting out to be a missionary ; 
Jessie Kirkton was accompanying him as far as 
Chicago. 

"I can't realize that you are going away so far," 
she was saying. 

Nor could he. His ordination and appointment 
had come so suddenly, it was like a dream. By and 
by he turned his face more directly toward her. 

"Wouldn't the world think this a strange arrange- 
ment, Jessie? Here am I, with only a high school 
education; a painter by trade- " 

"An artist," she corrected, and his bass laugh re- 
verberated. 

"But any money Pve made has been at painting 
houses — not pictures. ... I have never preached a 
sermon in my life. And yet I am on my way to a 
strange country as a missionary. Why, I haven't 
even got a black suit." 


''The Boy Preacher” 


91 


The bishop’s niece smiled. 

‘‘My uncle started out without even a suit case, 
Noel; not riding in a Pullman like this, but walking 
over the country roads. He preached from house to 
house, bearing the message of salvation as the dis- 
ciples of old did.” 

This brought a sigh from Noel. 

“How times have changed in a few years !” he re- 
turned. “It seems to me there was more sincerity in 
the days of our fathers and mothers, Jessie. People 
did not pay so much attention to appearances, and 
there was more true religion in the world.” 

“I don’t know, Noel. Do you think the moral 
movement is backward instead of forward?” 

“It seems to me so. Of course, there is always a 
glamor over the past. It is hard to speak definitely 
on such a matter. How ignorant we are, after all !” 

This train of thought suggested the Kansan. 

“I wish I were going to pass through New York,” 
the Missourian continued, “so that I could see Peter. 
By the way, Jessie, you have never given me your 
candid opinion of him.” 

“I’ve told you I liked him.” 

“Yes, but that is rather vague. What do you 
think of his character and viewpoint?” 

She thought a while before replying: 

“Somewhat twisted, I’m afraid. Undoubtedly he 


92 


Peter Bosten 


has a keen brain, and he seems to mean what he says ; 
but I have always felt that there was something lack- 
ing in him.” 

“Miaybe,” Noel ventured, ''that is because you know 
he doubts religion and discredits our God.” 

She smilingly mentioned the fact that Peter Bos- 
ten always had a champion in a certain "maiden”- 
missionary, and admitted that the Kansan might 
have good qualities of which she knew nothing. 

"But,” she continued, "I know that Helen Dyke 
feels the same way about him as I do, in spite of the 
fact that she really cares for him.” 

Noel shook his head, as if to shake off an unpleas- 
ant notion. 

"Pm sorry things have happened between them as 
they have. In many ways they were an ideal pair. 
Still, I believe they will come together again.” 

"They both have minds of their own, though.” 

"Which is a good thing,” he smiled. 

The conversation turned upon Mrs. Crayne, who, 
now that her only son had gone away from home, 
would be obliged to live with her married daughter. 

"What allowance is she getting?” Jessie asked. 

"Twenty a month. It should only have been sev- 
enteen, but your uncle insisted on making it twenty, 
which is very much like Brother Gamer.” 

"Nobody knows his goodness, Noel, better than his 


93 


**The Boy Preacher” 

own relatives. If his critics could only see his pri- 
vate life and realize how thoroughly wrapped up he 
is in his duty, they would take pains to be fully in- 
formed before making their petty charges against 
him.'' 

Noel could readily appreciate this, for he had an 
intimate friend, a bookkeeper in the bishop's office, 
who had often told him that never did widow or 
orphan ''apply to Brother Kirkton for aid and receive 
a refusal." 

The mention of church finance, which was a mat- 
ter of much discussion and some misunderstanding 
at conferences, naturally led the young missionary 
and his sweetheart to think of their own material 
prospects. A mutual sigh betrayed their thoughts, 
and then with brave, serious smiles they discussed 
the question openly. 

"Jessie," he said, "we will have to wait until the 
way opens up. We must expect a test of our faith ; 
it comes to everybody. But I feel just as certain 
God will lead us to happiness as I do that I love you." 

By some freak of mental action Adele Cressy 
flashed across his mind, as he made this utterance; 
and he recalled a recent conversation with Peter on 
the front veranda. However, Noel did not fear the 
charming Adele in Jessie's presence. 

"My faith accords with yours," replied the bish- 


94 


Peter Bosten 


op's niece. ‘'Uncle has often told me of the strug- 
gles he and auntie had when they first married. 
Especially as the family grew were they constantly 
at their wits' end to exist. Yet they did exist, raised 
and educated their children, every one, and uncle 
did not give up his missionary work either. He has 
brought hundreds into the church, and helped thou- 
sands of members in it both materially and spir- 
itually. The way, most assuredly, will open up for 
us." Directly she added: “Of course, until we get 
used to the separation it will be very hard, Noel. 
I hate to think of it." 

He pressed her hand and gazed out of the win- 
dow, speechless. 

There is ample material for philosophy in life ; 
especially in the lives of lovers. Noel and Jessie al- 
most had a quarrel after the maiden-missionary's 
first sermon, delivered before a fairly large audience 
in the South Chicago meetinghouse. 

Noel had spoken well, and the ladies especially, of 
whom a considerable number was present, had come 
around him to make his acquaintance and congratu- 
late him. One girl, in particular, had put herself 
forward, and Jessie had observed that Noel seemed 
rather pleased with this “sister's" enthusiasm. An 


*‘The Boy Preacher' 


95 


informal invitation for dinner the next day had been 
forthcoming — and readily accepted. 

It was after the dinner, on their way to the place 
where Jessie was stopping, that she made a remark 
bearing upon the Missourian’s popularity and elicited 
a reply not altogether in harmony with Noel’s na- 
ture. 

In spite of their high ideals both of them were, 
mirahle dictu, human ; and one word led to another. 
She relieved her mind of a petty complaint involv- 
ing Adele Cressy, and he intimated that a certain 
young Petit City man, Billy Moore by name, was 
still “living in hopes,” and not being sufficiently dis- 
couraged. 

The disagreement came to a sudden end, of course, 
in tears and forgiveness ; but like many innocent in- 
cidents of life, it would resurrect itself later on, 
assuming greater importance as a memory than as 
an actuality. 

The moment came when they must take leave of 
each other. Jessie’s courage was an inspiration to 
the Missourian, and he endeavored not to look tragic 
when the train pulled out. Needless to say he only 
half succeeded. 

Came hours of blankness, almost unconsciousness. 
The world was a speeding railway coach, with non- 
chalant passengers for inhabitants, which bore one 


96 


Peter Bosten 


away from happiness; through fields and cities, 
strange, lonesome, loveless, into oblivion. 

Finally Noel prayed to heaven for strength, after 
which he was able to take a casual interest in his 
surroundings. But it was not until he arrived in 
Boston that his heartsickness showed signs of leav- 
ing. There he was obliged to deliver another ser- 
mon, out in Somerville, and the preparation of the 
same filled his thoughts. 

This second effort, like the first, was a success, and 
the Missourian remarked to a brother that the Spirit 
was with him, for he never could stand up before an 
audience and speak like that in his own strength. 

NoePs faith was strengthened by the generous 
actions of the Boston church members, many of 
whom came to him with money and other gifts. He 
began to marvel at the wisdom of the scriptural sys- 
tem that sent Christ's representatives out “without 
purse or scrip," providing for their sustenance 
through avenues of individual sacrifice and faith 
in God ; and contrasted it with the “salary calls" of 
innumerable preachers who claimed to be followers 
of the Nazarene. 

He felt, as he sailed out of Tea Harbor on the 
Nova Scotian, that wherever he might go, his Pro- 
tector and Guide would go with him ; and all would 
be well. It did not matter that he knew no one, not 


*'The Boy Preacher’' 


97 


even the minister in charge of his new “field.” A 
light would go before him, as in the days of the 
prophets, it went before God's servants. l 

The voyage to Halifax would have been pleasant, 
had it not been for memories of home. This was 
Noel's first long journey from loved ones, and it was 
one the end of which, in time and place, he could not 
foresee. He thought it incredible that other young 
men on board should gaze over the railing, smoke, 
laugh and flirt with the strange young women vaca- 
tion-bound, — unconcernedly. Life could not be so 
serious a matter to them, surely, as it was to him ! 

But when la few weeks had passed the Missourian 
discovered that he, too, was prone to greet the day 
with laughter and his new-found friends with a jest. 
Missionary work was turning out to be a much more 
pleasant occupation than he had anticipated. 

The local missionary in charge, Henry Davis, was 
a man whom everybody loved. For twenty years he 
had had charge of the Maritime Provinces mission, 
often without a single helper; and Noel found that 
in all that time “Brother Davis'' had never made a 
real enemy or lost a real friend. 

He was a man of between fifty and sixty years of 
age, but possessed the heart of a boy. 

They got along together like two school chums. 
While lawaiting the arrival of a preaching tent from 


98 


Peter Bosten 


Montreal they studied together, went fishing and 
blueberry picking together, discussed literary and 
even sentimental subjects, and analyzed each other's 
minds with a freedom born of perfect understanding. 

When the tent came they set to work trimming 
poles for it, and Brother Davis showed such dexterity 
with the ropes that Noel began to wonder if this 
man's accomplishments had any limitation. 

‘‘Dad," he said one day, using this familiar term 
for the first but not the last time, “it seems to me 
about the only thing you haven't done is write a 
book." 

The old missionary rarely laughed; but when he 
smiled, which was often, a singularly happy twinkle 
came into his eyes, though his lips barely moved. 
Noel saw the twinkle now. 

“Queer that you should hit upon my one deep 
secret so directly," came the answer. “I suppose you 
will think I am joking when I tell you I have written 
a book, and a novel at that. Everybody's doing it 
these times." 

For days, thereafter, in the hours of leisure af- 
forded them, they read over the manuscript together, 
Noel continuing to find hidden treasures in his com- 
panion's mind. The story was so far superior to the 
ordinary novel with which the Missourian was ac- 
quainted, that he urged Brother Davis to submit it 


*'The Boy Preacher” 


99 


at once to a big publisher ; but the elder missionary’s 
eyes only twinkled. 

“It would take a good mathematician,” he said, 
“to count the number of times it has already been 
rejected.” 

This was appalling to Noel. 

“What’s the matter with the publishers?” he 
asked, indignantly. 

“Maybe the trouble lies in the book, or — or the 
public.” 

“The public ! That’s it. They want sentiment and 
sickening drivel. Your story. Brother Davis, is too 
strong for them. It’s the same way about religion, 
isn’t it?” 

The missionary in charge would assent to such 
statements with a kindly nod and go on reading 
aloud his manuscript. ... 

The Nova Scotians had taken kindly to the youth- 
ful Missourian. They named him “the Boy 
Preacher,” and used him so well they might have 
spoiled him. There were several kind old sisters who 
occasionally bestowed a maternal kiss on him, some- 
times to his embarrassment; and there were others 
who declared that he was responsible for a sudden 
interest in religion on the part of certain pretty 
Evangelines. But Noel did not allow kindness and 


100 


Peter Bosten 


flattery to turn his head. He was too vitally inter- 
ested in his work for that. 

True, when he met Beth Farrar, with her baffling 
blue eyes that slanted like a geisha's, and her simple, 
attractive personality, he experienced delectably 
dizzy sensations, and found it hard to study for a few 
days; but when humiliation and remorse succeeded 
this inexplicable soul-wavering, and he had prayed 
for help, his missionary duties went forward again. 

Nevertheless, in periods of self-communion, as he 
walked alone through the meadows sweet with the 
scent of wild roses, full of the joy and passion of 
youth, there stole into his dreams of home thought 
of Beth Farrar; and although he longed to see her 
join the church, he hoped she would defer her in- 
terest in the tent meetings until he was master of 
himself. The moment such a hope arose within him, 
of course, he hated himself for the admission of 
weakness it involved, and wondered at the mortal 
perversity of a heart that could, for an instant, toler- 
ate two loves simultaneously. 

Ofttimes when struggling with himself in this 
manner a third vision hovered on the horizon of his 
dreams: Adele Cressy. Once the Missourian was 
obliged to laugh aloud at his sentimental folly. He 
was sitting down by a brook, at the time, making a 
sylvan sketch. 


*'The Boy Preacher” 


101 


“I didn't know you saw me," said a light voice 
from behind him. 

Noel started, and turned around. 

“Why, Miss Farrar," he said, rising and coloring, 
“I didn't know you were there !" 

“You didn't? I thought you saw my reflection in 
the brook. Why, you laughed?" 

He felt embarrassed, and evaded the subject by 
handing her the sketch to look at. 

“Splendid!" she cried. “I had no idea you were 
an artist, too." 

“Neither I am," he returned. “But one can't 
study all the time, you know. And it does get a trifle 
lonesome here sometimes." 

She turned those baffling eyes upon him, and there 
was a serious light in them. 

“Indeed it must, Mr. Crayne," she said. By and 
by she added: “I have often wondered about the 
ministers of your church. They are such strange be- 
ings, most of them. Mr. Davis is such a lovely man ; 
such a unique character. And others of your faith 
who have come here, young men little older than 
yourself, to convert us sinners" — she smiled attrac- 
tively — “it is hard for me to understand. You, for 
instance; it is difficult to imagine you a preacher; 
and yet you are one." 

Noel could not deny to himself that he was glad 


102 


Peter Bosten 


Miss Farrar had found his seclusion. He spread a 
handkerchief on the grass to protect her white dress 
against stains, and after expressing a doubt as to 
the propriety of her action, and excusing herself on 
the plea that it had long been a habit of hers to write 
verses by the brook, evidence of which she supplied in 
the form of a writing pad, she consented to remain 
awhile. 

“For I am really interested in knowing, from your 
own lips, Mr. Crayne, what it is about this religion 
of yours that prompts you to make such a sacrifice 
as you are making.'’ 

There was no mistaking the sincerity of her words. 
Noel straightway forgot externals in the message he 
bore to “all the world." 

For nearly two hours, then, he told her about the 
gospel of Christ, as he understood it ; of the apostasy 
from the “faith once delivered to the saints" ; of the 
Dark Ages, during which the Scriptures had been 
corrupted, even as the law of Moses was corrupted 
by the Jews prior to Christ; of the reformation 
brought about by Luther, Calvin, the Wesleys and 
others; and finally of the restoration of divine au- 
thority, in its fullness, by what men called “miracu- 
lous" means. He told her of the poor and humble 
instruments God had used to confound the wisdom 
of the wise in “these last days," and of the hope he 


''The Boy Preacher'' 


103 


had that Christ would soon return to earth again, 
this time as the King of kings. He pointed her to the 
signs of the times ; wars and rumors of wars, men's 
hearts failing them, the increase of wickedness and 
infidelity ; and many other things that were new to 
her. 

Perhaps it was his manner rather than his words 
that really impressed her; but the fact remained 
that she was impressed, thrilled even as Peter Bosten 
had been the morning he first heard this earnest 
young Missourian's voice. 

Finally Miss Farrar looked at her little watch with 
a shocked expression and hurried away; leaving 
Noel in a peculiar state of mind. Now that the 
burden of his message had been delivered he had 
mental leisure to consider the human aspect of the 
interview. Had the fair Nova Scotian, after all, 
really understood him? Might she not have seen a 
masculine as well as a religious light in his eyes, as 
he gazed steadily into hers? 

Accustomed to being scrupulously honest with 
himself, he realized now that the interview had 
proved much more pleasant than it would have done 
had his interlocutor been an aged or uncomely per- 
son. 

He sighed as he rose to leave the brook. This mis- 
sion of his was becoming more complex every day. 


104 


Peter Bosten 


He was aware of a tightening of the heartstrings, 
and of an evolution of thought. 

Peter Bosten was, perhaps, more in his mind than 
anyone else. He could not help taking the Kansan's 
view of life and religion occasionally. As he gazed 
over the faces of his congregation betimes and real- 
ized that what he said was Greek to them, the terse 
phrases, the crystal criticisms on theology employed 
by the agnostic Peter, would cross his mind, often 
leaving miserable doubts. 

Prayer was the only weapon Noel had against un- 
certainty ; but even while praying he was sometimes 
conscious of a question in the back of his brain as 
to the reasonableness of it. Might not religion, as 
Peter claimed, be merely a means of self-deception, 
after all? 

Brother Davis's companionship and counsel were 
a great solace these days, as were Jessie Kirkton's 
letters. But a post card came one day that brought 
a pang. It was from Adele Cressy, and stated that 
she had accepted an engagement with a musical 
comedy company and hoped to be an actress when 
next she saw him. 

Noel prayed for her; but, such is the complexity 
of this frail mortal mind, he felt a certain amount 
of pride in her, withal, and pictured her carrying 
bouquets away from the footlights. The old phenom- 


*'The Boy Preacher^* 


105 


enon of a rise in temperature was in evidence as he 
read and reread the card; and he wondered why 
Jessie’s letters had not more of the same effect. 

Jessie he idealized. She occupied a throne in his 
mind. She was not flesh and blood, but spirit. 

Adele was a warm potentiality, physical, enthrall- 
ing, that seized him in unguarded moments and 
played havoc with his fancy. 

The Nova Scotian, Beth Farrar, strange to say, 
seemed to be a combination of the two. Which mys- 
tery worried the puzzled Missourian unduly. He 
sometimes felt the earth tremble slightly beneath his 
feet, and in such moments thought of monks of the 
Middle Ages who had shut themselves up from temp- 
tation to keep their thoughts on high. But having 
no sympathy with such ''devotion,” and yet realizing 
with what uncertain steps he kept the narrow way 
amid life’s allurements, Noel’s career, as maiden-mis- 
sionary, was difficult. Nor had he done with it yet. 

Late in the summer Beth Farrar, whom the gos- 
sips had already accused of being in love with the 
"Boy Preacher,” asked Brother Davis for baptism. 
Noel, it must be confessed, was not as happy over 
the event as he might have been. Away down in his 
heart there was a miserable semiconviction that him- 
self, rather than the "Spirit of God,” had been im- 
mediately responsible for the conversion. He con- 


106 


Peter Bosten 


sidered this feeling decidedly sacrilegious, but in 
spite of that it insisted on lingering. 

However, the way was opening up for him, as he 
had prayed and tried to believe it would. 

Brother Davis took sick and was compelled to leave 
the Provinces. This left Noel alone in Nova Scotia ; 
and a branch of the church in Kings County had not 
yet been visited. 

The tent having been closed up for the summer, 
the Missourian was instructed by his senior to visit 
the church members southward, then report to the 
apostle of the Eastern Mission. 

So Noel found himself preaching in a country 
schoolhouse, to rough, bearded lumberjacks and 
hardy sons of the soil. He delivered fourteen ser- 
mons in two weeks, ending by conducting the funeral 
services of a man who had died at eighty-eiight 
years of age. He preached on the resurrection and 
the hope of salvation true believers in Christ cherish, 
reflecting, beneath his sentences, on the courage his 
faith imparted to him. 

After the funeral service he bade these kindly, 
unsophisticated souls farewell and was showered 
with blessings, tangible and intangible. They had 
waited two years to see the visiting missionary of 
their faith, and when a mere boy had come with the 


''The Boy Preacher'” 


107 


old words of wisdom they loved, the effect upon them 
had been dramatic. 

Noel left them with tears in their eyes — and his 
own. Word had come for him to join Roland Fraser 
in Maine, until further notice. 

He left Nova Scotia without bidding Beth Farrar 
good-by, knowing the parting would cause both of 
them a pang. That he could have allowed a serious 
attachment to form for her he well knew. That she 
already cared for him he dared not to think. 

As he sailed out of Digby, bound for Saint John, 
he mused on the extent of man's emotions, and their 
contradictory nature ; wondering if he would ever be 
wrecked, as others had been, upon the shoals of hu- 
man passion. 


108 


Peter Bosten 


CHAPTER VI 
A missionary's troubles 

The Missourian spent several instructive and in- 
teresting months in eastern Maine, among the coast 
towns. Sometimes he was working with Roland 
Frazer, whom he found to be a remarkable char- 
acter (occasionally exacting and austere, but usually 
as full of Christian charity as he was of personal 
magnetism) ; and sometimes laboring alone. 

The phases of his work were numerous and di- 
verse. For an entire week he had done nothing but 
keep house for an elderly sister who was sick and 
neglected, at the end of which two young women 
came to the rescue, meekly acknowledging their self- 
ishness and declaring that the missionary had taught 
them a lesson they would never forget. 

One other week he had taken a vacation, accom^ 
panying some of the fishermen on daily excursions 
among the lobster traps and fishing smacks. He 
tried to eat as many beans as they, on their recom- 
mendation that beans were the best protection 
against cold sea breezes; but failed ignominiously. 
But where fresh lobster salad was concerned he as- 
tonished even the heartiest seaman. 

The young missionary tried to apply the teachings 


A Missionary's Troubles 


109 


of Christ to his everyday life, and act, in every situa- 
tion, as he believed the Master of men would act. 
This endeavor, he discovered, kept him thinking of 
others so diligently, he was able to forget his own 
troubles in theirs. 

In a few months Beth Farrar had become but a 
happy memory ; a memory, however, which he knew 
could be revived by personal contact into a torment- 
ing reality; and loneliness for Jessie Kirkton had 
mysteriously disappeared. Noel was convinced he 
still loved her, and would one day marry her; but 
no longer did the heart-burning keep him awake at 
night. Jessie had more than ever become spirit- 
ualized in his mind ; she was an ideal that remained 
with him constantly, not to disturb but to soothe. 

Adele Cressy was still in his thoughts, at intervals. 
When he skimmed over the whitecaps in one of the 
fishermen^s launches, the noFeaster calling the blood 
to his cheeks and the sea birds screaming joyously 
through the foam, he sometimes experienced a keen 
desire to have Adele with him : she would enjoy all 
this so much ! 

He did not associate Jessie with such physical 
pleasures. In the calm of evening, seated by the fire 
with a book, he invariably conjured the image he 
loved; but out-of-doors, where the billows pounded 
the rocky shore and a salt breeze stirred virile na- 


110 


Peter Bosten 


tures to the core, Noel could not help thinking of 
Adele, the girl so full of earthly joy and charm, whom 
he knew loved him with singular passion and for 
whom he was aware a certain part of his nature 
constantly cried out. 

Often he pondered over the statement concerning 
Christ: “Tempted in like manner as we, yet without 
sin.” Had the Master loved Mary with this mortal 
love, before his crucifixion, and renounced it for the 
sake of his mission? Certain maledictions recorded 
in history, directed against his morals, seemed to 
point to the fact of an attachment, though not the 
kind that his vilifiers pretended to credit. 

If he had been tempted as we, would he have es- 
caped the supreme trial of man’s nature? Noeil 
thought not. He believed that Jesus had loved ; and, 
so far as this world and its pleasures were concerned, 
that love had been in vain. The thought was a great 
solace to the young missionary, who, by the way, 
was developing into a seasoned worker and losing his 
title of “the Boy Preacher.” Adults often overlooked 
his youth now, when they listened to his utterances. 

So even in his sentimental relations Noel studied 
to do as the Savior would have done. He continued 
to pray that distracting passions would not prove 
too much for his strength, and that the way would 


A Mi88iona7'y*s Troubles 


111 


be opened up for his marriage to Jessie, whose soul 
he conceived to be so pure. 

Only two letters had come from the Kansan, and 
they were melancholy in tone. Noel replied to them 
at length, expressing the hope that he would soon 
have the pleasure of seeing his friend. 

Shortly after Christmas a message from the min- 
ister in charge of the Eastern Mission announced 
that there was a temporary pastoral vacancy in one of 
the large eastern branches of the church. Noel was 
asked to report at Portland, to consider acceptance 
of the vacancy for a while. He did so, and was not 
returned to the coast towns, but sent to Ladner, a 
city in southern New Jersey. 

The chief reason for his appointment to this place 
was that recently a large number of young people 
had come into the church here, and the minister in 
charge of the field believed a young pastor would 
be an inspiration to them. The permanent pastor 
had been obliged to sail for England and would be 
away indefinitely; and Noel Crayne was considered 
the very man to undertake the apostle’s experiment. 
The church was endeavoring to give all the encour- 
agement possible to the rising generation, for upon 
it depended greater things, perhaps, than had yet 
transpired in the history of the ''Restoration.” 

Noel could not believe himself capable of perform- 


112 


Peter Bosten 


ing the allotted task; he thought there were other 
more experienced and powerful men who might have 
been chosen. But his modesty was ignored. He was 
urged to take God into his confidence and do his best. 

The first Sunday morning was something of an 
ordeal. The youthful preacher felt his knees tremble 
as he rose behind a pulpit where the best orators of 
the church had often stood. He saw before him sev- 
eral hundred listeners ; men and women to whom he 
must seem but a child, both in years and knowledge. 
But he recalled the origin of the gospel, as restored 
in these ‘The last days'" ; the ignorant, inexperienced 
instruments the Almighty had used to carry his mes- 
sage of salvation forth ; and took heart. Even as he 
made his opening remarks he was praying, in his 
mind, for courage and wisdom. 

Presently a warm wave seemed to sweep over him, 
from head to foot, and his tongue was loosed. He 
knew what he was saying ; every thought expressed 
was familiar to him ; but he marveled at the fluency 
of his speech and the force with which his arguments 
left his lips. It seemed as if a power within him was 
doing the talking, and he, like the audience below, 
merely listened and understood. 

The time passed with mysterious rapidity. The 
big clock at the rear of the auditorium reminded him 
that he had preached almost an hour. Then, sud- 


A Missionary's Troubles 


113 


denly, it seemed that a curtain was drawn before his 
spiritual vision ; and he knew that his message had 
been delivered. He sat down with a sensation of 
physical weakness, resting his head in his hands. 
Tremors coursed through him and he wanted to 
weep, not from sadness but with joy sublime. 

Came the inevitable handshakes and expressions 
of gratitude. Most of them were genuine ; but Noel 
encountered one ‘‘brother” whose manner was pat- 
ronizing and whose speech sounded insincere. It 
was no less a light than Thomas T. Jacobs, a man 
whose name was attached to occasional wordy letters 
in the church papers, and who was noted for his 
contributions to “charity.” 

“Brother Crayne,” he said, adding — “I believe that 
is the name? Well, Brother Crayne, we are glad to 
have you with us. It will be a fine experience for 
you ; and, in fact, I trust the benefit derived will be 
mutual. I want you to meet my son and daughter, 
who will bring you up to the house for noon dinner.” 

There seemed to be no doubt of a missionary's de- 
sire to accept such an invitation. The possibility of 
a refusal was not even considered. Noel, however, 
explained that although he should be happy to meet 
the son and daughter, he had promised to go else- 
where for lunch. 

“Then you will come for supper,” added Mr. 


114 


Peter Bosten 


Jacobs, beckoning to his two children, who were 
waiting for him down the aisle. 

The daughter, Millicent, was a pretty girl of per- 
haps twenty. She was dressed elaborately and had 
a way of arching her brows and puckering her lips 
when smiling, that struck the Missourian as being 
rather theatrical. Also, when she shook hands it 
was with a mere touch of the finger tips. Noel ob- 
served that she glanced at him coyly even after the 
introduction was complete, while he was speaking 
with the brother, Arthur. 

Arthur looked and acted like his father. He was 
a tall, impressive individual, with an artistic face, 
which, unfortunately, lacked the deeper lines of ear- 
nestness. The missionary was wavering in his 
analysis of him when he, Arthur, said something pat- 
ronizing (a habit, obviously, inherited from the 
parent) ; and then Noel decided he did not like Ar- 
thur. 

However, Missourians are charitable, as a rule, 
even though they ‘'want to be shown” ; and Noel was 
no exception. He was, if anything, more generous- 
minded than the average. It was his creed, more- 
over, that it is better to err on the side of right than 
on the other side : and the highest expression of right 
involved thinking well of one’s fellow creatures. He 


A Missionary's Troubles 


115 


determined to have no prej udices in his work here ; 
but act as nearly like Christ as possible. 

Act like Christ! He thought of that Supreme 
Reformer, who came not to bring peace but a sword ; 
who drove the money changers out of the temple and 
called the scribes and Pharisees hypocrites. Was it 
not the part of his servants to deal sternly with hy- 
pocrisy, as he had done? 

Noel felt sad at heart as he reclined in a great 
morris chair in the Jacobs drawing room. About him 
was wealth and luxury, and before him sat a man of 
the world (though a brother in the church, osten- 
sibly) and his well-groomed son, smoking cigars and 
conversing easily about ‘‘the morality of the world,” 
“the cure of the gospel,” “the salvation of the human 
family,” “the ideals of the church,” and so on; not 
realizing that they were dealing with the letter of 
the law and leaving the spirit out of it. They were 
speaking in formulas they had learned, Noel felt; 
and the task of making them see themselves in the 
light of the Gospel with a capital “G,” seemed too 
great for him. He sighed heavily, and they smil- 
ingly accused him of being homesick. 

For weeks the youthful missionary worried over 
the affairs of the church at Ladner. There were 
times when he longed to be back on the “firing line” 
again, preaching first principles, faith, repentance. 


116 


Peter Bosten 


baptism of water and the Spirit, the resurrection, 
and the eternal judgment. Out among strangers he 
was not hampered by bad examples, weak person- 
alities. He could show his hungry hearers the plan 
of salvation in all its purity and simplicity, without 
being pointed to lives wherein that plan had failed 
to produce satisfactory results — because of the un- 
fitness of the soil. 

Moreover, here in the city there were temptations 
that did not cluster about the path of simple country 
folks, out in God's green fields. There were allure- 
ments for tired souls, worn out physically and men- 
tally by abnormal toil ; for hasty youth, with its love 
of the artificial, the glamorous; for the superficial, 
whose natural tendencies were in the direction of 
pleasure: pleasure that might have taken an inno- 
cent form in the country, but drifted into channels 
of depravity here. 

Noel had seen sin in the Petit City church; but 
there his had not been the responsibility of coping 
with it. Here he was pastor. It seemed incredible, 
but it was true. 

Of all his cares, perhaps that of tolerating the 
evident insincerity (who should say whether or not 
it was conscious insincerity?) of the Jacobs family, 
sufficiently to help them, was the greatest. Often he 
wanted to use the direct method and tell them his 


A Missionary's Troubles 


117 


conviction regarding them. Indeed he would have 
done so, had he been as sure of his position as the 
Master was of his, in denouncing the Pharisees. But 
fearing in his ignorance to alienate those whom it 
was his duty to aid, he waited and prayed. 

The inevitable break came at last, however, when 
Mrs. Jacobs, the most superior member of the family, 
detected personal allusions in certain remarks of the 
pastor's, and sent her husband to him demanding an 
apology. The manner in which Mr. Jacobs ap- 
proached the Missourian overbalanced the latter's 
restraint. There was nothing manly about the ap- 
proach. It was a tactical, sordidly diplomatic move, 
and Noel, for the first time in his ministerial career, 
became eloquent in personal rebuke. 

There were no outward signs of hostility there- 
after until the semiannual business meeting, in May. 
But at that meeting the storm which had been gath- 
ering broke in all its fury, and the Jacobs faction of 
the church sustained a motion requesting the pastor 
to resign ; giving as a reason his youthful indiscre- 
tion in dealing with matters that were too delicate 
for one of his years to comprehend or control. 

A lively debate ensued, in which Noel, of course, 
did not take part; but his supporters, including all 
but the Jacobs faction, did. Ranged on his side were 
practically all of the young folks, some of whom 


118 


Peter Bosten 


showed signs of budding eloquence in their excited 
appeals on his behalf. 

But ere the discussion had got well under way, 
Noel withdrew, (it was thought he had gone out but 
for a moment), and walked the city streets alone. 
His head swam and there was a nauseation in his 
soul. That he had more in his favor than against 
him did not seem to alleviate his suffering. He 
thought only of the struggle he had made to do his 
duty, and of the disheartening outcome. What had 
his work amounted to? The young people liked him. 
But what did that signify? Would they not have 
liked anyone who treated them even humanely? 
Would they not have liked a preacher of any denom- 
ination, had he proven himself a man in his dealings 
with them? 

The work of a real Christian reformer was not to 
save the good but the wicked. But he, Noel Crayne, 
had merely stirred up the evil and set its stench 
expanding, to contaminate the entire body. 

The spirit of Peter Bosten rose before him. What 
a noble character Peter was as compared with these 
squabbling, pride-enveloped “patricians” of the Lad- 
ner Branch! Jacobs and his family claimed to be 
“Children of God” ; they had placed their names on 
the church records, and were in the habit of con- 
tributing to its treasury. So long as their sins were 


A Missionary's Troubles 


119 


not hinted at, they flattered and patronized and fed 
the pastor ; but the moment he tried to help them see 
their folly, they turned on him almost as savagely as 
wild beasts, though, perhaps, with slightly better 
breeding, and demanded that he be ejected from their 
midst. 

This was not Christianity, thought the Missourian. 
No wonder it sickened men like Peter Bosten. How 
could he, or any other level-headed, honest man be 
attracted to such a farce? 

These people were not members of the church of 
God; they only thought they were. They were 
scribes and Pharisees. He had seen it in their eyes 
and felt it in the uncomfortable touch of their hands, 
the first day of his sojourn in Ladner. 

Then who were the real members of the church 
and what was the church? Noel asked himself. But 
before answering, he tried to imagine the reply Peter 
would make, and there came into his mind the fol- 
lowing sentiments: 

“The church of God is an idol that men have set 
up to worship, because it is man’s nature to worship 
something. The good members of this or that church 
are the consistent, honest ones, who try to act like 
human beings, rather than denizens of the jungle. 
Their goodness depends upon the relative worth of 
the idol set up; upon the status of the human ideals 


120 


Peter Bosten 


cherished. Everything, after all, is judged accord- 
ing to man's reason, and in proportion as his reason- 
ing faculties refine and develop, does his 'religion,' 
his law of life, improve." 

Noel opened his mind to doubts. He wanted to 
be rid of thoughts associated with the hypocrisies of 
religion, so he tried to view the actions of man to- 
ward his fellows in the light of ordinary common 
sense. This mental inclination, he knew, was termed 
"doubt," but he was in a mood to go a step or two 
beyond the bounds of religious convention to-night. 

Supposing Peter were right and he wrong, what 
new light would an interchange of beliefs throw upon 
the deportment of Jacobs, for instance? Instead of 
"offending the Spirit," Jacobs would be said to be 
"protecting his own interests" ; "guarding his pride," 
instead of "hardening his heart." Was there any 
distinction, save in terms? 

Noel lost himself in a maze of metaphysical spec- 
ulations, and had not yet got back to his faith when 
he noticed that unconsciously he had walked directly 
to his boarding house. 

He hesitated, wondering whether he ought to go 
back to the church or not. It was only nine o'clock. 

The moon offering no solution to his problem, 
though he looked at it hard enough, he hesitated on 
the steps of the wooden veranda, moved toward the 


A Missionary's Troubles 121 

sidewalk, then back, and finally darted into the 
house. 

A few moments later he emerged, however, and 
began walking in the direction of the city’s center. 

As a matter of fact he had discovered a letter wait- 
ing for him on the hall seat and having found its 
contents, to say the least, disconcerting, knew his 
bedroom would be a prison, and betook himself he 
scarcely knew whither. 

A kind, thoughtful sister had written from Petit 
City to inform him, ‘‘in all love and confidence,” that 
a certain Mr. Moore (Billy Moore indeed) was pay- 
ing undue attention to the bishop’s younger niece, 
Jessie, who was not averse to going about with him 
now and then. The good sister’s motive in impart- 
ing this confidence was not quite clear; but then 
Noel was in no condition of mind this evening to 
worry about motives. He was concerned with con- 
crete facts, one of which was a motion made in a 
business meetings — . 

But now this other fact took precedence. Jessie 
was still encouraging Moore. Why did she persist in 
doing it? 

No man is just when he is in love (or thinks he 
is). Noel did not take into consideration his own 
fiickerings of fancy, in Nova Scotia, and with a cer- 
tain dream girl on various launch excursions with 


122 


Peter Bosten 


the fishermen. Nor did he reflect that a year is a 
very long time to a girl who has not the innumerable 
duties of a traveling preacher to occupy her mind. 
Also, he failed to recollect that Billy Moore was an 
honorable man. 

Our young Missourian wandered toward the city's 
“white lights" disconsolately. Passion beat against 
his heart, and his brain continued to whirl — ^though 
not with thought. He was too wrought-up to think : 
he only felt. His thinking machine had failed to run 
smoothly earlier in the evening. Now it had stopped 
altogether. 

Not toward the church, where Mr. Jacobs and his 
lieutenants were doubtless still holding forth, but 
toward “theater row" he drifted. The human half 
of him was now in command. How strong it should 
prove, events will show. 

Listlessly he stopped in front of a music hall to 
read the posters. He gazed, nonchalantly, then he 
blinked his eyes and stared hard. A familiar name 
stood out — or was he dreaming? 

“Adele Cressy," he read, dazedly; “the girl who 
reached fame in six months." 


Peter Courts the Muse 


123 


CHAPTER VII 

PETER COURTS THE MUSE 

Peter Bosten had eagerly accepted the Eastern 
position, primarily because he believed it would bet- 
ter his prospects; in fact, pave the way to matri- 
mony. However, when the break came with Helen, 
he lost interest in the material side of the matter, 
and went to New York solely for adventure. He had 
the pride of an ultra-independent spirit: he would 
demonstrate to a certain religious girl that her pres- 
ence was in no wise necessary to his existence ! 

For a time, Helen's action had turned him against 
all members of her church, and he had bitterly de- 
scribed them as a ''pack of narrow-minded fanatics" ; 
but this frame of mind did not last. Memories of 
Noel Crayne, President Stem and others were too 
vivid. . . . 

The Kansan was now a newspaper reporter on 
Park Row, or "Newspaper Row," one of the greatest 
news centers in the world. 

It happened thus. He found, on the advertising 
staff of the Brooklyn daily, that here was the same 
old meaningless grind he had known in the Petit 
City electrical office. Nothing mattered but "getting 
business" ; that is to say. Money. 


124 


Peter Bosten 


Peter saw better prospects here, of course, of se- 
curing the Desirable Thing : but now he had no mo- 
tive. There were no longer a love and a home to 
consider. And of what use was money except to 
retain the one and maintain the other? 

The Kansan’s was a peculiar, though typical, na- 
ture. He did nothing by halves. When he had loved 
Helen he had loved her with all his heart. But now 
that she was cut off from him, by an act of her own, 
he endeavored to put her entirely out of mind ; and 
was more successful than the average man would 
have been. However, the process had involved a 
change in his sentimental nature. Women did not 
appeal to him any more. Had he been blessed with 
the society of a mother and sisters, their influence 
would have tended to moderate this change in him. 
But he was without them, and so he became cynical 
about love. 

Yet, having felt something go out of his life, 
naturally he cast about him for a substitute. This, 
such as it was, he found in New York more readily 
than he would have done anywhere else in America. 
He returned to his old love, the books, of which the 
Manhattan libraries supplied him with a great vari- 
ety. Also, he enjoyed many of the newspaper edi- 
torials ; and it was under their spell, perhaps, more 
than any other that he first conceived a desire to 


Peter Courts the Muse 


125 


write. It was born of a conviction (egotistical it 
may have been) that he had something to say. 

This was about three months after his arrival in 
the East. 

Characteristically, he lost interest in the advertis- 
ing business forthwith and began searching for some 
sort of journalistic work. In a short time, by reason 
of his speed in shorthand, he obtained a position 
on one of the big dailies, in the editorial department, 
and went to work with might and main to learn the 
art of writing. 

However, as the days and weeks went by, he dis- 
covered that a stenographer was by no means a 
writer. Particularly was this true of a stenographer 
on Park Row, where the mass of daily routine was 
so great that one had to work nights, frequently, to 
make any headway at all. 

Nor were editors the romantic fellows Peter had 
supposed them to be. They chewed cigars and 
cursed copiously, most of them. Some of them were 
most intemperate. How they contrived to turn out 
such elevating editorials was a mystery to him. Per- 
haps the reaction from their daily spiritual dissipa- 
tion came in the evening, and they thought lofty 
thoughts merely for recreation. 

Of course, he was not in very close touch with the 
greatest ones. They were more powerful than kings 


126 


Peter Bosten 


in their realms, and might not be approached entirely 
without ceremony. When a mere stenographer did 
find himself in their presence he was apt to shiver 
a little — until he discovered their pet failing : after 
which he was able to study them to advantage. 

For a few months the Kansan had been sufficiently 
interested in his environment to keep to the steno- 
graphic grind; but when he fully realized that jour- 
nalism was coming no nearer to him by this means, 
he begged to be transferred to the reportorial staff. 
The man to whom he first made the suggestion was 
himself a reporter ; one of the happy-go-lucky type, 
versatile, humorous, good-hearted, and leaning to- 
ward cynicism. He looked at the Kansan a moment 
in silence, a satirical smile beginning to play with his 
mouth. 

“My dear fellow,’’ he said, after some reflection, 
‘T have been watching you, and I had come to the 
conclusion that here, at last, was a man who’d resist 
the virus successfully. Is it possible that, after the 
failures you’ve seen around here, myself included, 
you want to step on the trapdoor yourself?” 

Whereat the sophisticated one turned away, mur- 
muring profanely about “cubs,” “bugs” and other 
members of the lower creation. 

But no healthy Kansan ever allows the failures 


Peter Courts the Muse 


127 


and prejudices of others to frighten him. Besides, 
Peter was a logician. 

“Because these chaps have not succeeded is no 
proof that I shall not,^^ he mused. 

His determination won the day for him, eventually. 
Of course, his salary as a reporter was not so much 
as a good stenographer’s; but think of the oppor- 
tunities for advancement! 

Peter began the “rounds.” At first it was instruc- 
tive work. The activities of four million human be- 
ings, crowded into smaller space than would satisfy 
a respectable herd of cattle, could not but be inter- 
esting. Nay, they were more than this to the Kan- 
san. The goings and comings of these creatures, so 
diverse in face and form; their fierce struggle for 
existence, their wiles and machinations, enthralled 
him — finally oppressed him. 

He contrasted this abnormal, huddled existence 
with life on the Kansas plains. How little these 
wretched children of the Ghetto knew of life! The 
health officers said of certain sections that half the 
boys and girls who grew up were diseased of body 
and the other half diseased of mind. 

Peter tried to reconcile the lives of these beings 
with his theory of evolution, but was aware of a 
conundrum somewhere. His mind traveled back to 
President Stern’s sermon at the General Conference, 


128 


Peter Bosten 


and he remembered the impression of the missing 
link. Here it was again. 

“The limitations of mortal mind,” he soliloquized. 
“Both the believer and the unbeliever come to the 
Gulf, which the former bridges with faith — and the 
latter leaves unbridged.” 

The Kansan sighed as he picked his steps along 
the filthy streets of the East Side, searching for 
something horrible to tell his city editor. 

The thought of it disgusted him. He who felt in 
his soul a yearning to express great things ; set 
down as no one had ever done before the mighty con- 
trast between this ghastly Ghetto and life under the 
Western skies ; must crawl about the slums, like the 
rat-eyed Bowery ghoul, searching for sensations, for 
filth. 

One day he communicated his impressions to the 
city editor, and the latter, after regarding him in- 
tently a moment, replied : 

“Third Avenue is just as respectable as Fifth, if 
not more so. May be a little more dirt there, of the 
material kind, but there is not more robbery, crime, 
immorality. I'd rather deal with one of those fish- 
daubed old Jews at Williamsburg Bridge than most 
of your fashion plates around Times Square.” 

This was the first time the city editor had shown 
signs of being human. Usually he was merely a 


Peter Courts the Muse 


129 


machine. Peter was interested in the phenomenon, 
and had a momentary sense of inferiority. 

“But I was thinking of this news game,’' he re- 
turned. “Why do the papers go after shame and 
scandal with such an appetite?” 

“Because,” came the reply, which, however, did 
not interfere with some leaders the editor was writ- 
ing, “the public demand it. We’ve got to be just as 
sensation-loving as they are.” 

Impulsively the Kansan answered : “I don’t believe 
it. I think the newspapers ought to lead the way. 
Besides, we’re working on a wrong hypothesis. We 
assume that all the people want this slime and scum. 
I know that is not the case. We cater to the lower 
forms, the unfit ones. We are mighty poor evolu- 
tionists, if you ask me.” 

The editor laughed as he continued to write lead- 
ers. 

“I agree with you. But you and I are of no ac- 
count. I advise you to interview the Business Man- 
ager.” 

Another time Peter went to his “chief” and ex- 
pressed a desire to come “inside,” as a “write-up” 
man; but the city editor was in a bad humor and 
sarcastically observed that “a cub from Kansas can’t 
learn all about Babylon in a few months, and had 


130 


Peter Bosten 


better know something of real life before gabbling 
about it.” 

This remark acted as a stimulus to the Kansan. 
He decided to continue on his '‘run” for a while 
longer. 

In the evenings he began writing articles and verse 
embodying his observations, and reflections based 
upon them. His mind had always been of a serious 
turn, and now, as a "writer,’' instead of the glamor, 
he limned the shade. Others had waxed eloquent 
upon the pleasures of New York, its wealth, fashion 
and allurements. He preferred to consider its pain, 
and endeavor to express the flood of thoughts sight 
of that pain inspired. 

Peter realized that these writings of his were 
crude. Comparison with the smooth style of maga- 
zine and newspaper articles convinced him of that. 
But he believed his thoughts were original, and knew 
that constant practice would help him put them in 
respectable form. 

Sunday came to be la day of toil. Although he 
knew there was a small "branch” of Noel’s church 
in Brooklyn, the Kansan did not attend. In the first 
place, he dreaded the memories that such attendance 
would call back to him. There was a certain spirit- 
ual or psychologic potentiality about the congrega- 
tions of this church that would, he knew, remind him 


Peter Courts the Muse 


131 


of Helen Dyke and the happy times spent in Petit 
City. This he desired to avoid. 

The chief pleasures surrounding his sojourn in 
the East thus far were three letters from Noel ; two 
from Nova Scotia and one from Maine. Peter had 
read them over many times, neglecting, however, to 
reply to the last. His intentions had been, and still 
were, good ; but now that his time was occupied with 
writing essays he had less inclination than ever for 
putting thought into such ephemeral things as let- 
ters. Moreover, the missionary's address was still 
changing, no doubt; and mail might not reach him 
at all. . . . 

One Sunday afternoon in May, a year since his 
coming to New York, the Kansan sat staring over 
an unfinished manuscript on his rented typewriter, 
musing on the singular emptiness of life these days ; 
when a picture rose before his imagination, lifting 
him out of his immediate surroundings. 

He thought he saw an immense crowd gathered in 
Madison Square Gardens, around a gaudily clad fig- 
ure that gesticulated vigorously. In his fancy he 
moved closer, and discovered that the faces of the 
throng were twisted with laughter. There were well- 
dressed individuals, of various ages and nationalities ; 
indeed, all sorts and conditions of men. The central 
figure turned out to be a quack and a juggler. He 


132 


Peter Bosten 


performed all sorts of feats, dancing and grimacing 
fantastically. At each new move the crowd burst 
into another roar of laughter. Peter could hear the 
sound of it rumble and die away. 

Suddenly the picture changed. The charlatan dis- 
appeared, as if by his own magic, and in his place 
rose a figure in white, with a thoughtful face. Peter 
thought he recognized Adam Stern; but presently 
he saw there were points of facial dissimilarity, 
though a certain general likeness remained. 

The laughter gradually faded from the faces of 
the throng, and one by one they began to move away ; 
some in scorn, others apparently in fear. Ere the 
speaker had uttered many words, all but a few 
ragged women and children and one man had for- 
saken the place. 

Then a light descended upon the head of the figure 
in white, and stepping down from his elevation, 
which proved to be a rock, he gathered his few hear- 
ers about his knee, took a loaf of bread from his 
girdle, and began ministering to their needs. Thus 
the vision faded. . . . 

Peter experienced the old thrill that he had known, 
on many occasions, in Petit City ; and his soul was 
lost in wonder. 

It occurred to him to tear up the manuscript on 
his typewriter and set down what had so mysteri- 


Peter Courts the Muse 


133 


ously come into his fancy ; but remembering a criti- 
cism of the city editor’s : that he was too imaginative 
to make a success of newspaper work : he decided to 
grind out the rest of his article and not be ruled 
entirely by fancyings. 

Nevertheless he could not quite rid his mind of 
the picture. It remained with him vividly for many 
days. Particularly when night fell and the great 
metropolis blazed out in its artificial glory, did he 
recall the figure in Madison Park, and the actions of 
the crowd. 

What bearing did this fancy, which Peter con- 
ceived to be true to life, have upon the evolution of 
mankind? Was there an element in human nature 
that was for ever at enmity against Truth, in one 
age as in another ; and if so, could earthly infiuences 
alone ever eradicate it? 

Did the actions of the mob for ever characterize 
the attitude of carnal man, in other worlds and eons 
past as now ; and the condescension of the Figure in 
White typify the love and mercy of what religionists 
called “God”? Was there a gulf between the two 
that the theory of evolution might never fill? 

In his heart the Kansan sympathized with the 
White Figure and those who hearkened to him. The 
grimacing rabble, with their love of tricks and folly, 
were despicable beyond words. They were the 


134 


Peter Bosten 


worms of earth who demanded idle pleasures, de- 
praved sensations. His soul hated them. What part 
of creation, he asked himself, did they represent? 

His intellect referred the question to Civilization. 
Whose ideals were more truly represented in the 
present state of society: the mob's or the White 
Figure's? 

The reporter covered several of his ''runs," in 
fancy. He saw destitution, prostitution, damnation 
on every hand. Moving westward three blocks, he 
was confronted by the marble halls of commerce and 
culture : the highest representation of human 
achievement (according to Society's valuation). 

He entered the marble halls and looked about him. 
The stairways were of polished white stone. From 
a distance they shone with artificial splendor. But 
moving closer he caught reflections in their surface 
that froze his heart. The victims of civilization lay 
there, mangled, crucified on the altar of human greed, 
mortal lust. They were ghastly. Peter shuddered 
and turned away. 

All this work of man was the work of devils. No 
wonder people of sincerity clove to thought of God 
and believed in future punishment. 

But here the Kansan halted himself. He believed 
he was being carried away by an attractive illusion. 
The conditions his vision had shown him existed. 


Peter Courts the Muse 


135 


true enough ; but the religionist's was not the logical 
remedy. . . . 

Toward the end of May, the city editor came to 
Peter one morning and asked him whether he would 
prefer being a ''small toad in a big puddle or the 
reverse." Peter expressed surprise that so busy and 
practical a man as his chief should talk in riddles; 
but ignoring the remark the city editor went on to 
say that a certain small puddle called Ladner, New 
Jersey, was, he happened to know, in need of a "good 
newspaperman." 

"An old college friend of mine is editor in chief 
of the Evening Globe there, and he wants some one 
who can do a little of his private work and learn to 
write editorials. Now this is a chance for you, Bos- 
ton, if you've got the literary bee very bad." 

Peter was profuse in his thanks. He had not been 
anticipating such good fortune. 

"But," he said, on second thought, "do you think 
I'll be able to fill the place?" 

His chief waved the doubt aside. 

"All you've got to do," he returned, almost impa- 
tiently, "is to avoid the use of the double negative, 
cross your t's and dot your i's. No one writes litera- 
ture these days. Anyway, you can bluff your way 
through — as the rest of us do. We are a bunch of 
funny little egotists, the whole lot of us. Why, 


136 


Peter Bosten 


haven't you heard that our religious editor can't do 
a thing until he's taken his tea?" 

A wire was sent to the Ladner Globe, stating that 
a competent man had been found, and Peter took 
leave of Park Row. 

He had not realized till now that he was attached 
to the place. The '‘boys" were unique characters, 
many of them. They considered themselves the salt 
of the earth; although their savor was not always 
healthful. Peter had never chummed with any of 
them ; but his casual associations with them had been 
both pleasant and educational. 

Before taking his leave he ascended to the summit 
of one of the down-town skyscrapers and gave Man- 
hattan a final scrutiny. 

The shining streaks of light that were streets and 
avenues, swarmed with life. How like insects were 
these creatures, “made in the image of God," as they 
believed! They swarmed in and out of the office 
buildings exactly like ants. 

Peter had been sympathizing, more or less, with 
the religionists' viewpoint of late. His mental habit 
of subjecting everything to the test of incredulity 
made him doubt the “world" just as honestly as he 
doubted the “church." In Petit City he had analyzed 
the ways of the sincerest believers he had ever 
known, — with keenest scrutiny. His mind had in- 


Peter Courts the Muse 


137 


dined toward the ultra-agnostic view in the presence 
of excessive faith. But in New York, away from 
religious influences, constantly in contact with the 
worldly, his mental processes had been working in 
the direction of the opposite of worldly — the “godly.” 

Yet now, as he stood looking down upon this great 
city, almost from the clouds, and conceived of man's 
likeness to the creeping things of earth, his mind 
could not possibly compass Noel Crayne's conception 
of the Almighty. 

Were not those insects down there but an insig- 
niflcant part of the universe's evolution? Their re- 
ligions, their ideals — in the sum of things, what did 
they matter? — any more than mattered the aspira- 
tions of the ant? 

Could any reasonable man conceive of a God little 
enough to interfere in the individual operations of 
these inflnitesimal beings ; to take a handful of them 
unto himself as “chosen ones,'' and champion their 
cause against other handfuls? 

The Kansan sighed, under the burden of the 
thought, and continued to gaze at what he could not 
comprehend. 


138 


Peter Bosten 


CHAPTER VIII 

INVOLVING AN ACTRESS 

Noel stood gazing at the theatrical announcement, 
without really seeing it. The performance would 
now be going on. Adele Cressy would be singing, in 
that mellow though tempestuous voice of hers, and 
smiling at fascinated strangers. 

The missionary felt in his pocket for the few coins 
he knew were there, and mechanically approached 
the box office. 

''How much are your rush seats?'' he asked. 

"Twenty-five cents," came the reply, accompanied 
by a grin. 

But suddenly the face of the ticket vender turned 
scarlet. Obviously he recognized the "customer" and 
repented of his grin. 

"Give me one ," Noel was saying, when inter- 

rupted. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, but will you accept the 
compliments of the house? You are Mr. Crayne, are 
you not? I have heard you preach." 

It was Noel's turn to blush. 

"Thank you," he said; and being unable to make 
any more comprehensive remark, added: "veiy 
much." After which it seemed to him the only thing 


Involving an Actress 


139 


to do was to enter the theater; and that is what he 
did, without further hesitation. 

He was shown to a seat on the left aisle in the 
second row of the orchestra. ^‘The Prince of Pilsen^’ 
was playing. He had come in just before the “ Vio- 
lets'' song. 

A moment after he took his seat action was cleared 
for that duet, and the love scene surrounding it ; and 
a vision appeared that made his heart thump ab- 
surdly. 

Noel did not see the “juvenile lead" at all. The 
light baritone might just as well have been back in 
one of the property trunks, for all he mattered to the 
Missourian. Noel's eyes were fixed on Adele — sadly 
“made up," but still Adele — and he was hoping she 
would not see him. Why had that box-office man 
recognized him? The gallery would have been a 
much safer place than down here. 

The stage lover came into existence for Noel on 
the second line of his song. Unquestionably he had a 
good voice, and was singing, too, with reasonable 
expression. He almost seemed to mean it. 

However he did not hold the missionary longer 
than a minute, in spite of his powers. Adele Cressy, 
a girl who had learned to sing in prayer meetings, 
was there on the stage. She was being featured on 
the bill as having won music-hall fame in a few 


140 


Peter Bosten 


months. The audience was waiting for her to an- 
swer the baritone-tenor. 

As part of the ‘‘business^^ of the scene, Adele had 
to move upstage between the verse of her ‘‘answer^' 
and the chorus. It was while doing this, her tones 
still ringing in Noel's ears, that she saw him. 

He was glad recognition had not come in the mid- 
dle of the verse, for Adele was evidently affected by 
sight of him. Why she should bite her lips thus and 
clench her little hands was more or less of a mystery 
to him. A second later, of course, she smiled : and 
then “took” the refrain as a solo. 

While their eyes were still in communication she 
began the “Message of the Violet,” in a voice suffi- 
ciently unsteady to be convincing; and while the 
legitimate “business” of her act required that she 
sing to the stage lover, Adele took liberties: and 
Noel Crayne knew to whom she was singing. 

He could feel the perspiration stand out on his 
palms as the significance of her tones reached him. 
The glances she stole from her make-believe lover 
and bestowed upon the real one, burned into the Mis- 
sourian's heart as nothing human had ever done. 

The chorus was simple; over-“popular” in fact; 
but there was a certain natural beauty about it that 
“held.” And when Adele ascended to a third repeti- 
tion of the phrase that burdens so many songs, “I 


Involving an Actress 


141 


love you/' putting all the charm of her voice and per- 
sonality into it, the effect was unquestionably thrill- 
ing. 

A great uproar of applause came down upon her, 
but she only “took" one curtain call. Nor did any- 
one in the house, except the Missourian, know why. 
An usher handed him a note from her, entreating 
him to come back behind the scenes at once. 

As he cared nothing for the performance itself 
and was just as eager to see Adele as she was to see 
him, he followed the usher out, and was directed to 
the stage door, down an alley. 

The doorkeeper “passed him" with a grunt, and 
he found himself in the most dismal place imagin- 
able. It reminded him of an old granary in which 
he had played, on his uncle's farm, as a boy. 

One of the chorus girls found him wandering along 
a blind passage in search of the Star, and kindly 
showed him the direction to go (showering his black 
coat with powder, in the act) . 

He rapped at a door on which was pasted a gilded 
star, but was not told to enter. Light steps ap- 
proached, from within, the door opened suddenly, 
and before he knew it he had been kissed (and again 
daubed with talcum) . 

She drew him inside and sat down with her arm 
about him, in the manner of actresses. Yet, strange 


142 


Peter Bosten 


to relate, Noel was not shocked. The environment 
seemed to demand some such welcome. Besides, the 
genuine light of happiness and friendship in Adele's 
shining eyes dissipated all superficial impressions. 

There seemed to be so much to say, and time was 
so limited, that they satisfied themselves, for the 
moment, with casual remarks. Adele had made her 
change of costume and dismissed her maid, but was 
expecting to be “called'^ any moment. 

Don't you dare to leave this dressing room," she 
said, hearing the expected call, “until I come back. 
And make up your mind right now that we are going 
to have dinner together after the show." 

With that she disappeared, leaving Noel to his 
thoughts. These, however, were a sorry jumble. 
Jessie Kirkton, the Jacobses, the box-office man, 
Adele, an usher, and the “message of the violets" 
formed innumerable and impossible combinations in 
his brain. Moreover, this dressing room added its 
distractions. He saw before him uncounted devices 
for improving on nature and tickling the fancy of 
man. Here he came to a halt, wondering how many 
admirers Adele had. Did she kiss them all, as she 
had him? If Jessie knew about this unconvention- 
ality what would she think? 

But at this point Billy Moore came on the scene 
(Noel was already thinking in stage terms), and 


Involving an Actress 


143 


sang a song to the bishop’s niece. Perhaps at this 
very moment he was doing so, in reality. It might be 
nothing more dangerous than an anthem (some of 
which, Noel reflected with la grin, were dangerous 
enough to the reason) ; but even so, it would be ac- 
accompanied by sympathetic looks: and in turning 
the page their hands might come in contact. 

Alas! these were the thoughts that played upon 
the surface of the missionary’s mind. But who of 
us, however holy, can justly criticize him? Have we 
not, in spite of our ideals, been swept along in the 
tide of our desires, sometimes even into the rapids — 
and beyond ? 

The thing we call Love, imperfectly known to us 
as it is, dominates our lives at times against the 
influence of all the noble faculties; bearing us on- 
ward first in our fancies and then in reality. It 
changes its face until we can not recognize it, and 
we mistake the illusion for the fact. It contradicts 
itself, makes hypocrites and fools of us often when 
we are most sincere ; and brings perhaps as much 
pain as pleasure, on the whole. 

One of the forms this mortal passion takes is 
jealousy: with which the Missourian was even now, 
unconsciously indeed, having trouble. His regard 
for Jessie, of whatever nature it was, had been at 


144 


Peter Bosten 


least temporarily altered by the message he had re- 
ceived from a Petit City gossip. 

This may seem unworthy of a hero of romance, 
particularly of a religious romance ; but perhaps the 
author had better declare, at this juncture, that he 
is writing about men, not angels. 

Noel’s love for Jessie was, when all is told, merely 
human. All that pertains to this mortal body is nec- 
essarily human. It may have been, and doubtless 
was, above the average affection ; but for all that, it 
was somewhat faltering in its development, and not 
impervious at this stage, to influences that sway all 
lovers, of every degree. 

He was and always had been aware of a certain 
attachment between Jessie and Billy Moore. That it 
was not equal to her love for him, Noel devoutly 
believed. But it was only natural that he should 
accuse himself of egotism in this regard occasionally. 
Truer lovers than he had deceived themselves before 
now. 

Thought of his religion moderated his doubts, of 
course. But, in the last analysis, was he positive 
that this attachment had the divine sanction ? Might 
not he, and other members of the church, claim too 
much of a monopoly of God’s favor — as Peter Bosten 
had often hinted? Who was he, Noel Crayne, that 
the Lord should make a pet of him? 


Involving an Actress 


145 


The question was repeating itself in his mind when 
Adele came back from the footlights. 

“Now Fve another precious minute/' she declared, 
coming close to him again. “Dear old fellow," she 
cried, in the next breath, “I can't seem to get used 
to you !" 

He returned the pressure of her hands, and was 
aware that in so doing he both received and imparted 
pleasure. 

“In spite of your make-up, Adele," he answered, 
“you look great." 

He was the only man she knew who used that little 
adjective with any significance; but she did not tell 
him so now. 

“You will have to step outside a moment," she 
said, “while I make a change. Drop in on Mr. Clear, 
across the hall, number four, and make yourself 
acquainted. Come back in five minutes." 

Noel did as commanded, and found that Mr. Clear 
was the baritone-tenor. The Missourian congratu- 
lated him on his singing, after saying that Miss 
Cressy had sent him; and the actor was obviously 
pleased. Noel had heard that musical-comedy artists 
never tired of praise. He thought it probable in 
Clear's case, anyway. 

“So you're an old friend of Adele's, eh?" said the 


146 


Peter Bosten 


actor, a trifle patronizingly. “Well, that makes you 
my friend too.^' 

Mr. Clear went on to say what a wonderful girl 
she was. He conveyed the impression, too, that no 
man “in the business” had succeeded in making 
much headway in her affections except himself 
(Clear). At which remark the Missourian took 
secret offense, for some psychologic reason. 

“How do you like him?” Adele asked, when he 
returned. 

“Not much,” said Noel, with true Western frank- 
ness. 

Adele laughed, oddly. 

“You always were hard to please, Noel.” 

She accompanied the assertion with a half-bash- 
ful glance that carried the missionary back to old 
scenes, and seemed decidedly out of harmony with 
her false complexion. 

When leaving him this time she gave him some 
photographs of herself for his entertainment, and 
when she came back he had made a rough sketch of 
one of them, which she detected him trying to con- 
ceal in his coat. 

“Oh do give it to me,” she coaxed. “You can have 
the original if you like. I don’t mean myself,” she 
laughed apologetically, giving him a shy look. 

He was putting a finishing touch to the sketch. 


Involving an Actress 


147 


“It^s too crude, Adele,^^ he said, glancing from the 
paper to her face. “Both the photograph and the 
sketch are bad.” 

While she was scrutinizing the latter, he began: 
“Do you remember ?” But she interrupted : 

“No' — you mustn’t use up any of our pleasure in 
advance, Noel. Save it for dinner to-night — and the 
other nights.” 

His rumbling bass reverberated for the first time 
during the evening. 

“You’re the same girl,” he said, looking at her 
admiringly. “I can’t associate you permanently with 
this place and the theatrical profession.” 

“Can you imagine me earning three hundred a 
week?” she asked, smiling at the effect of her ques- 
tion. 

The next moment she was gone, and the mission- 
ary was multiplying his mother’s monthly allowance 
by fifteen to make it equal Adele’s salary for one 
week. Not that the money meant anything to him : 
but he always liked working at puzzles. 

He looked at his watch. By now the business 
meeting would be out, most likely. And how had it 
terminated, he wondered? 

Noel did not doubt that T. T. Jacobs and Company 
had been cried down; but he was curious to know 
what liberties had been taken with his character in 


148 


Peter Bosten 


his absence. That there were petty jealousies 
against him in the branch he was aware. These had 
been a thorn in his flesh. But that they would mani- 
fest themselves to any extent in the present situa- 
tion he could not imagine. 

The performance over, Mr. Clear approached 
Adele's dressing room, passing the Missourian in the 
corridor without appearing to notice him, and en- 
tered unannounced. But a second later he came out 
again and went away muttering something about 
''fastidious people.’' Adele explained to her old 
friend that theatrical men were hard to endure and 
harder to educate. Noel observed the heightened 
color with which she said it, but did not ask any 
questions. 

As they walked up the alley, Adele holding him by 
the arm, the Missourian was conscious of subtle 
pleasure and a peculiar sense of pride. He wondered 
if the well-dressed throng in front of the theater 
would recognize the leading lady and envy her escort. 

Adele hailed a taxi, (the while Noel secretly felt 
in his vest pocket for a bank note that had once been 
there), and gave the driver the name of a popular 
cafe, "Henley’s.” 

Noel was experiencing sensations similar to those 
Peter Bosten had felt on first coming to Petit City. 
There would be a rent in the magic web, by and by. 


Involving an Actress 


149 


and the dream would come to an end, leaving bare 
walls, darkness and a hard pillow behind. 

“I suppose,'' remarked the actress, as they sped 
down Ladner's white way, “if your congregation ever 
saw you doing this there would be trouble." 

“Who told you I had a congregation, Adele?" 

“I forget. Some one informed me several months 
ago that you were out in the field" — ^he noted with 
pleasure that she still used church terminology — “but 
I thought it was down East. Of course when I saw 
you at the theater, in your black suit, I concluded 
you were doing pastor's work here. That, after all, 
is the work, it seems to me, for which you would be 
best fitted." 

In the back of his brain Noel was thinking of the 
failure he had made, or thought he had made. But 
foremost in his mind was the girl beside him, whom 
he had heard pray and sing many times in prayer 
meeting. 

Unable to readily form a reply that would repre- 
sent his thoughts, he allowed a brief silence to ensue ; 
the while the actress studied him from the corner of 
her eye. 

“I am pastor here, temporarily," he said, pres- 
ently ; “but it's a hard task, Adele ; I feel unfit for it. 
Only to-night they were having a business meeting 
in which I was being asked to resign : when I got up 


150 


Peter Bosten 


and left. That is how I happened to stray toward 
the theater. I hadn't noticed your name in the news- 
paper advertisements and knew nothing about your 
connection with the Pilsen company. It was blind 
chance that led me to you." 

'‘And yet — was it, Noel?" she returned, quickly. 
"You never used to believe much in chance. Have 
you, like me, changed?" 

"Sometimes I ask myself that question, Adele. 
But as for you, I think you are just as good as ever. 
There is honesty in your eye and sincerity in your 
voice, as there always was in spite of — " He hesi- 
tated. "In spite of your love of pleasure," he fin- 
ished. 

She pressed his hand and there was a pause. 

"This trouble of yours," she said, by and by, — 
"who wanted you to resign? Do you want me to 
guess?" 

He nodded. 

"The Jacobs crowd," came the answer, in stage 
slang. 

"How did you guess, Adele?" 

But they were at the cafe. 

Noel was not quite sure how to proceed. How- 
ever, the first thing he did was to open the taxi door ; 
and his second act was to reach for the worn bill 
in his vest pocket. Adele was quick to detect the 


Involving an Actress 


151 


movement, and forestalled his recklessness through 
the speaking tube. 

As they entered the cafe she reminded him that he 
was a missionary and she a prosperous actress. 

'‘If you attempt to pay anything,'' she declared, 
"I will take it as an offense." 

He believed her, too. 

It was half-past eleven when their soup arrived. 
Noel glanced at his watch and Adele at him. 

"This is one night you forget the demands of 
duty," she warned. "Noel, I am going to talk you 
ill. Your head will be nodding hours before I am 
through with you." 

He gazed about the place, a moment, as any novice 
might; the while Adele, to whom the glamor of life 
was already beginning to lose its charm, secretly 
studied his profile. 

By and by she began the conversation where they 
had left off. 

"You asked me how I knew it was the Jacobses 
who opposed you, Noel. I'll tell you. ... It is an old 
habit of theirs. They cater to themselves and want 
everybody else to do it. I know I am a frivolous 
creature myself ; I love nice things ; I even like to be 
flattered. But, Noel, I don't think I am a hypocrite. 

"A few months ago, Arthur Jacobs was in a town 
where our show was playing. Learning that I was. 


152 


Peter Bosten 


or had been’" — she dropped her eyes under his gaze 
— member of the church, he looked me up; made 
a dreadful fuss over me; wanted me to make their 
home mine when I came to town. To-day, at my 
hotel, I received two telegrams, a telephone call and 
a personal caller — none of which I paid any atten- 
tion to. Arthur was the caller, and he went away 
angry. 

“My own cousin — Jack Delton — ^you know him — 
he's in the southwestern field now — had an experi- 
ence with these people. They tried to rule him, and 
he preached right at them from the pulpit one Sun- 
day. Oh, how they rose up and devoured things ! 

“But, Noel, don't you let them have their way. 
You should have stayed at the business meeting to- 
night and fought it out." 

He smiled at her earnestness. It was good to 
know that the church and the tribulations of its fol- 
lowers still interested her. 

“I am not a fighter, Adele," he replied. “But come 
now, tell me all about yourself. Leave me out of the 
conversation. I am in a mood to forget myself to- 
night. Besides, I want to know something about 
your profession, and the great strides you have made 
in it." 

She gave him a brief synopsis of her short career, 
but he could not induce her to prolong the subject. 


Involving an Actress 


153 


Reflecting, then, that it might be better for her to 
hear an account of his missionary experiences than 
to recite worldly things, he consented to speak again 
of himself. 

While he was attempting to describe the vicissi- 
tudes incidental to his unique labors in Nova Scotia 
and Maine, and while the actress was holding back 
a real tear, a tall, slim young man entered ‘‘Henley^s’’ 
and was shown to a table within a few yards of 
Adele’s, but partially hidden from it behind a large 
palm. 

The newcomer was a newspaperman, recently 
come to town, who had dropped in to test the repu- 
tation of this famous Ladner resort, and incidentally 
to drive away the fatigue occasioned by his first edi- 
torial for the Evening Globe. 

Peter had no more than got seated when he caught 
sight of two familiar faces, one more familiar than 
the other. 

Now, probably some persons would have acted dif- 
ferently; but being only himself, Peter tipped the 
waiter and stole out of the place, without having 
tasted anything to eat. Once outside, he flattened 
his nose against a pane of glass and gazed long and 
bewilderedly at what, to him, was a miracle. 


154 


Peter Bosten 


CHAPTER IX 
LIFERS STAGE 

As HE turned away from the cafe window Peter 
was thinking neither of his recent editorial nor the 
fatigue it had left. He walked home to his room, a 
distance of more than ten blocks, shaking his head 
many times en route, pondering over the mystery he 
had seen. 

The Kansan had been in town only two days, 
which accounts for his ignorance of NoeFs pastor- 
ship and the wild idea he was now cherishing that 
the Missourian had quit preaching up in Maine to 
join Adele Cressy, perhaps marry her. Such things 
had happened before now. Peter had even known 
parsons to run off with other men's wives. 

‘'But Noel is no ordinary preacher," he solilo- 
quized, “let alone something less." 

Peter recalled his conversation with the Missour- 
ian of more than a year ago, wherein the latter had 
confessed his infatuation for Adele ; and found him- 
self trying to trace the stages of the passion's de- 
velopment up to the present. He was aware, in do- 
ing so, of a contradiction somewhere in his own 
philosophy. 

That the miracle he had witnessed in the cafe was 


Life’s Stage 


155 


disappointing to him — nay, more than that — ^he 
was obliged to concede. But why? If Noel, and all 
other religionists, were pursuing an illusion in their 
faith, did not a surrender of the same bring them 
nearer to Truth? And if the affairs of the world 
and the universe were directed according to the laws 
of evolution, where was there any ill significance in 
the attachment of a clean young man for a charming 
professional singer? 

'‘But there's Jessie," the Kansan answered him- 
self. 

"Yes," Reason returned, "but his attachment for 
her is a spiritual thing and depends on his religious 
scruples. He believes their lives jointly will be of 
greater service to God than separately, or than a 
union between himself and a girl like Adele Cressy. 
Now, if this faith is misplaced, as you believe his 
faith in God to be, — why see anything foreboding in 
his present conduct?" 

But try as he might to be logical in this matter, 
Peter felt a pang of disappointment in his breast at 
thought of the psychologic change in Noel. Some- 
how, it boded ill ; proclaimed that there was nothing 
sure on earth. 

The thinker retired with his reflections, resolving, 
as he turned off the lights, that he would call on the 


156 


Peter Bosten 


actress next day and ascertain exactly what had 
happened before looking Noel up. 

At the same moment Adele was asking her com- 
panion if he would prefer tea to the coffee he had 
left untouched. 

^‘No, thank you/' he replied; but did not remind 
her that their church believed all manner of stimu- 
lants were harmful. She did not have to be re- 
minded, however. 

''Noel,” she said, tenderness creeping into her 
tone, "I don't believe there is another like you in the 
world.'' 

With that he grinned and raising his coffee-cup 
swallowed a generous mouthful. The iaction so 
amused Adele that she was several minutes regain- 
ing possession of herself. Nor did the missionary 
stop at one sup. He drank all the coffee and de- 
clared that "Henley's” sure knew how to make it. 

The explanation of his conduct was soon forth- 
coming. 

"Adele,” he observed, thoughtfully, "I am weary 
of being considered halo-browed. It makes my task 
so much harder. Let you and me be perfectly hon- 
est with each other, we are old friends, and it will 
be such a relief. Your inviting me here to-night has 
done wonders for me. Among other things it has 
demonstrated what a noble, understanding thing 


Life's Stage 


157 


true friendship is. With you I know it is not my 
calling that enlists interest. You know, there are 
cloth-worshipers in this church as in every other; 
and if a minister happens to show himself human 
once in a while, he is immediately consigned to per- 
dition. 

‘‘But with people like you, Adele, — well, I like you. 
Your presence does me a world of good — ^far more 
than mine can possibly do you. So forget thkt I’m 
a preacher, like a dear girl, and let us be jolly this 
week.” 

The girl’s eyes glowed and color mantled her 
cheeks. Here was a side of Noel’s character that 
she had never clearly glimpsed before- It revealed 
him in a more alluring light than ever. 

But in the height of her pleasure there came a chill 
— with thought of Jessie Kirkton. Was the mission- 
ary still true to her? 

The answer seemed obvious to Adele. Noel might 
have innocent reactions like this from the side of 
perfection, but fundamentally he was unchangeable. 
Yet, discouraging las the reflection was, Adele deter- 
mined to make one supreme effort to win more than 
his friendship. She felt that she had temporary ad- 
vantage of him, and of Jessie ; which advantage she 
must make use of to the full extent. That her plan 
involved the defeat of another girl’s love was a mis- 


158 


Peter Bosten 


take of life's — not hers. She loved Noel Crayne as 
truly as any woman could, and determined to make 
him reciprocate the affection if possible. 

Had the actress known how much circumstances 
were in her favor she would have been encouraged. 
Had she realized, for instance, that his heart was un- 
dergoing stinging emotions, in which love for Jessie 
Kirkton was not the predominant factor ; and known 
just how human he really was, beneath his black coat, 
Adele would have played her game more confidently 
— and perhaps less effectively. 

'‘Why, Noel," she smiled, "if you don't look out 
you'll force me to write home about you !" 

"I expect Brother Jacobs has done that already," 
he replied. "But now Adele," he changed the sub- 
ject abruptly, "if we are to chum this week, I can't 
have you spending money. You know the state of 
my own finances, I suppose: and as I can not keep 
up my end of it, you'll have to submit to the simple 
life for a few days. We can go through the parks 
and so on." 

She nodded approvingly, her mind busy on the 
formulation of a question for which she had been in 
search of an occasion. 

"How ever will you manage to live on your mis- 
sionary's allowance when you're married, Noel?" 
She spoke with well-assumed indifference. 


Life's Stage 


159 


After a pause he answered, with an unconscious 
sigh: ^‘That^s probably a long way off/^ He was 
thinking of the possibility of Billy Moore’s proving 
the more acceptable. And although the thought car- 
ried a sigh in its wake, Noel was not aware of any 
acute suffering. Adele Cressy’s presence had al- 
ways had an obliterating effect upon his troubles. 

“You speak forlornly,'' she smiled. “I hope noth- 
ing has happened?" 

In his present mood he did not care to mention 
Jessie. In truth, he wanted to mentally neglect her 
a little as a punishment of her continued regard for 
a rival. 

“You keep talking about me," he answered, evas- 
ively, “although I have warned you against it!" 

Might not something have happened between them 
after all, Adele mused? Did not his actions to-night 
imply as much? 

Alas for the perspicacity of women ! 

The actress conceived another illuminating idea. 
She would diagnose him for possible sentiments to- 
ward herself. And a memory aided her here. She 
recalled a church picnic, three years past, where he 
had stumbled upon her and one Donald Graham, 
walking arm in arm through the woods. The ex- 
pression of his face had been singularly like that of 
a man’s who glimpses the green-eyed monster. 


160 


Peter Bosten 


Why a young man who had no right (though he 
might have obtained it) and apparently no desire 
to dictate to her strolls, should betray such interest, 
had been considerable of a marvel to her at the time ; 
but now she might profit by that observation. 

'‘What was it about Mr. Clear,” she asked, non- 
chalantly, “that you didn’t like, Noel?” 

He glanced at her interrogatively, with a sudden- 
ness that delighted her. 

“I don’t know,” came his answer slowly. “The 
usual trouble with men — and women too for that 
matter. Lack of seriousness in life ; love of the su- 
perficial — including self.” 

“Splendid!” she cried, softly. “But Noel,” her 
tone changed slightly, “don’t you realize that you 
have also described me?” 

He smiled reassuringly. 

“I have always thought, Adele, that there was 
more to you than is seen on the surface, even though 
you do love pleasure.” 

Her eyes fell, not in affectation, either. Gradually 
they returned to the level of his gaze. 

“Noel, don’t you think that Mr. Clear is just about 
the type for me? Remember, you wanted us to be 
honest with each other to-night.” 

The missionary’s countenance clouded slightly. 
The shadow of a frown appeared, and the eyes took 


Life's Stage 


161 


on a new expression. These signs were not lost on 
the actress. 

‘‘Indeed I don’t,” he replied readily, emphatically. 
“While I’ve never been able to find a man — ” The 
speaker came to a halt, as if struck by an idea. “By 
the way, Adele,” he went on, thoughtfully, “you re- 
member Peter Bosten?” 

She smiled, so apparent was the trend of his 
thoughts to her. 

“He’s the man for me, eh?” 

The Missourian was obliged to chuckle, in his 
thunderous bass. 

“Seriously, though, from what you knew of him, 
didn’t he strike you as being a fine fellow?” 

“Yes,” she admitted. “But there was no — ” She 
hesitated. “ — No physical appeal.” 

Their eyes communicated. There was a momen- 
tary silence. 

“Now in the case of Mr. Clear,” she went on, 
presently, observing the shadow on her companion’s 
face again, “there is." 

The missionary looked into his coffee cup. 

“That seems to me,” he observed, “to be one of 
the best proofs of my contention. These physical at- 
tachments strike me as being the cause of great 
trouble. The spiritual marriage is the nobler kind, 
don’t you think so?” 


162 


Peter Bosten 


She shook her head decisively, and a wisp of hair 
loosed itself from a fold over her ear. 

“Indeed I do not, Noel.^^ 

He had hit upon the very subject she wanted him 
to touch. 

“These spiritual marriages are not necessarily 
ideal. They seem cold and unnatural to me. Is not 
marriage, after all, a decidedly physical thing? 
Children — are they not physical ? Hasn't the Maker 
given us passions, compelling us to do his will by 
them? Can you or I say these impulses are carnal 
or ugly?" 

He was astounded both at what she said and at 
the fact that is was Adele who said it. 

“If you want to find an ideal marriage, Noel," she 
went on, realizing that she had made an impression 
on him, “look to the one where there are heartbeats, 
blushes, even jealousies ; where the girl cries for love 
of him, and he wants to fight for her." 

The missionary caught a vagrant tear in her eye, 
and could feel the blood running into his cheeks. In 
a few simple sentences she had betrayed her own 
love and at the same time pictured to him the affec- 
tion he had been crying down for years. 

With feminine tact she closed the matter abruptly, 
and with a glance at her watch smilingly remarked 
that it was time for them to go. 


Life's Stage 


163 


Again she called a taxi, and although he begged 
her to let him walk home, insisted on driving around 
that way with him. But she did not allow him to re- 
turn to their conversation on love. That was some- 
thing he must think over for himself. Adele had a 
week before her ; and the game she played must not 
be forced. The stakes were too high. She would use 
all the arts at her command. 

The good ‘'sister,’' at whose house the missionary 
resided, was at all times a light sleeper. To-night, 
having been to business meeting, and knowing that 
Brother Crayne had not yet come home, she lay 
awake fretting. Consequently when the taxi drove 
up she heard it, and was so sorely tempted to peek 
out the front window that she did so. 

There, was a finely dressed lady leaning out of an 
automobile, bidding the missionary good-night. 
Good-night ! — why, it was almost three o’clock in the 
morning! Had not the clock struck two, long ago? 

The good sister, of course, could scarcely believe 
her eyes. And he so young I 

Before getting back into bed she prayed for him, 
and asked the Almighty to “reward Brother Jacobs 
according to his works.” The reward she was think- 
ing of, as she prayed, was the loss of property and a 
certain amount of pride. 

Noel felt that he ought to lie awake and medi- 


164 


Peter Bosten 


tate awhile, but he was so sleepy the “penance'' was 
a physical impossibility. For his was not a medieval 
conscience, frightened with all manner of hobgob- 
lins, given to extreme fantasies. It was the con- 
science that goes with a clear brain, an honest heart, 
and a healthy constitution. 

The little qualm that suggested expiatory medi- 
tation was satisfied with a sincere prayer for his 
own salvation, Adele Cressy's, and all the world's. 
He sank to sleep with a comfortable feeling that he 
had made a girl happier, and perhaps a trifle better, 
by asserting his own individuality. Also, he looked 
forward with pleasure to the morrow and several 
days thereafter, hoping opportunities of assisting 
to make Adele less worldly would present themselves. 

Below all his reflections, of course, revolved her 
argument about love, and it continued to cause a 
surging of emotions that were resistless, in his 
present state of mind. 

When Peter Bosten reported at the office next 
morning he was instructed to catch the. nine-twenty 
train for Philadelphia, where an important strike 
had just occurred. 

“How long do you think it will last?" he asked 
the editor, thinking of Noel Crayne and the actress. 

“Probably only a few days — maybe not that." 


Life's Stage 


165 


So, knowing the “Prince of Pilsen’’ would be in 
town all week, and feeling certain that he should 
be back before Saturday, Peter went off without even 
telephoning the Frolic Theater for the name of Miss 
Cressy's hotel. 

The missionary met with a chilly reception at 
breakfast which he was at a loss to understand. He 
wanted to ask how the business meeting had turned 
out, but on second thought deemed it advisable to ig- 
nore that proceeding as unworthy of notice. It was 
only natural that a man should withdraw from such 
a session ; and, anyway, Noel was not the kind that 
recognizes human masters. Before breakfast was 
finished he had ascended to a dignified mien himself. 

He had an appointment with Adele for the after- 
noon. They were going for a stroll in the park. 

“Sister Bolton,’' he asked, with apparent inno- 
cence, “where do you transfer to reach the farthest 
entrance to Elm Grove Park?” 

Screwing her mouth up comically she made reply ; 
and, the ice having been broken, asked him if he had 
heard the outcome of the business meeting. No, he 
had not. Had she? 

“I left before it was finished,” she said, “but I 
heard this morning, over the telephone, that they 
had a terrible time. Brother Jacobs disgraced him- 


166 


Peter Bosten 


self ; his wife came to tears ; Albert declared he would 
never set foot in the church again ; and there was no 
end of trouble/' 

“What did they do with me?" asked the mission- 
ary, a smile beginning to appear around his mouth. 

“I think, Brother Crayne, they appointed a com- 
mittee to call on you — seeing that you did not re- 
main lat the church." 

She accompanied the last clause with a significant 
look, one that nettled the Missourian. 

“And what do you imagine," he asked, “this com- 
mittee will suggest?" 

Her manner indicated that she would prefer not 
to answer this question. But Noel’s face became so 
stern she finally decided it would be better to use 
perfect frankness with him. 

“Well, Brother Crayne," she replied, looking at 
her plate, “there is a general feeling, I believe, that 
one so young as you is inclined to be rather harsh — 
unintentionally so." 

“I see," he returned, calmly. “I don’t suppose," 
he went on, after a pause, “you have any idea who 
first suggested the committee?" 

Then he was informed that it had been done at 
the instigation of Brother Jacobs, and concurred in 
by the branch for the sake of keeping “peace in the 
family." 


Life’s Stage 


167 


“Well,” said the missionary, with a flash of fire 
in his eye, “if they think it right to compromise with 
dishonesty in order to ‘keep peace in the family,’ as 
you say, they may have the peace — that kind — and 
let me go.” 

At this the good sister’s manner completely 
changed, and she begged him to be reasonable. 

“Reasonable? Where am I unreasonable in refus- 
ing to be ruled by pride and selfishness. Sister Bol- 
ton? Do you expect me to sacrifice principle to the 
whims of a haughty family? That is not in harmony 
with the ideals of the gospel. I must speak the truth 
in my sermons, no matter whom it strikes. I had no 
one in particular in mind when I spoke on hypocrisy, 
a few weeks ago ; and no man or series of men in this 
branch will force me to apologize, in word or action, 
for a wrong I have not committed. Such an act on 
my part would itself constitute hypocrisy. If they 
don’t want my sincerity in this branch they can’t 
have me” 

He ended with all the emphasis of which his bass 
voice was capable, and “Sister Bolton” was silenced. 

The Missourian wanted to go out and walk off his 
anger, for he wm angry ; but reflecting that the com- 
mittee might possibly wait upon him during the 
morning, he stayed in. 

Being unable to study, however, and wishing to 


168 


Peter Bosten 


forget the matter that was on his mind, he picked 
up the photograph Adele had given him in the dress- 
ing room of the theater and proceeded to make a 
pen-and-ink sketch of it. 

The voice of discretion had suggested his room for 
a task of this nature; but the hypocrisy of it dis- 
gusted him, and with admirable stubbornness he sat 
in the living room of his boarding house, where the 
landlady could not help but observe his operations, 
and began portraying the beauty of an actress. 


Comedy and Drama 


169 


CHAPTER X 
COMEDY AND DRAMA 

There may be need to apologize for Noel’s actions, 
during this brief test-period in his life. If so, let 
the phrase ''weakness of humanity” suffice. It is 
very expressive, though trite. 

When it is considered that the Missourian had 
been away from loved ones more than a year now, 
and had sacrificed the privilege of attending General 
Conference in April, because of financial stringency 
in the church — his natural desire for a short week of 
diversion, with an old friend may be viewed in a 
charitable light. 

He was not conscious of infidelity to Jessie in his 
associations with Adele. That they were engaged 
was no reason for blindness upon the part of either. 
Neither of them claimed to be infallible; and while 
they believed "the way would be opened up” for their 
marriage, yet they must not set themselves up as 
arbiters of destiny. Under God’s guidance, all men 
had their free agency, and were in duty bound to use 
what intelligence they possessed — in love matters as 
in all others. 

There were many mysteries in this universe. Pos- 
sibly, as Peter Bosten believed, religious people were 


170 


Peter Bosten 


too confident of their comprehension. Faith did not 
imply knowledge. 

'There may/' reflected the missionary, “be eternal 
truth in what Adele said to me in the cafe. I may 
have a misconception of true love: I am merely a 
youngster yet. How do I know but that God ar- 
ranged that business meeting and my interview with 
Adele? He may be leading me to her for both our 
sakes; and has given Jessie another affection in his 
mercy." 

So mused the Missourian after his second pleasure 
excursion with the actress. Adele had been pensive, 
even a little sad; and her manner had strongly ap- 
pealed to him. They were to meet again on Wednes- 
day. 

Noel desired, above all things on earth, to do the 
right. He wanted to have perfect faith in God and 
the ultimate good. But, especially since knowing 
Peter Bosten, he realized that reason was a faculty 
that must not be ignored. He frankly admitted to 
himself that there were individuals in the church 
who professed a species of faith that he would not 
care to possess. It was the kind that bred fanatics, 
it seemed to him; attached abnormal importance to 
the “spiritual gifts," and too often neglected prac- 
tical Christianity. 

He knew, too, that faith was to some extent a 


Comedy and Drama 


171 


matter of education. The heathen idol-worshiper 
had faith. He believed in the immortality of a pile 
of stone, in the healing power of incantations and 
many other impossibilities. And so strong was this 
faith of his that often he would surrender life for it. 

There could be no disputing the sincerity of such 
belief. But the righteousness of it — ^that was an- 
other matter. And this lay in the believer's concep- 
tion. 

Noel remembered the agnostic Peter’s argument 
on Reason : that it was anterior to faith ; that with- 
out it faith could not be possible. As a matter of 
fact, it was possible. But what kind of faith? — ^the 
heathen’s! Yet, did not the heathen have a “reason 
for the hope that was within him?” Undoubtedly. 
Therefore, the determining factor must lie in quality. 

The word was an inspiration to Noel. It, and the 
thought involved, came to him from the realm of 
Truth, it seemed. 

Reason, faith, goodness^ — it was the quality of 
them that determined their value, their truth. But 
what was “quality” ; how was it ascertained and ap- 
plied ? 

Noel was suddenly aware that he had reached the 
bounds of mental comprehension. Here was some- 
thing that he could not grasp and put into words. 
He could only recognize it. But recognition involved 


172 


Peter Bosten 


a certain quality of vision! Here again was the 
elusive element of “quality/' 

It was a thing of the soul, he decided, conclusively. 
Something to be felt, but which could not be com- 
municated. It was, in the last analysis, “spiritual 
discernment." 

While following this train of thought, the mis- 
sionary recalled innumerable passages of scripture 
bearing out his conclusion; a conclusion, after all, 
which uncounted thinkers and believers had reached 
before he was born. And, while musing that never 
before had the spiritual nature of faith so impressed 
itself upon him, Noel was aware of a desire to com- 
municate the process of thought, immediately respon- 
sible for this illumination, to his skeptical friend 
Peter. Peter would scarcely be convinced of the 
necessity of this spiritual perception ; but he would 
doubtless say something relevant that would benefit 
both of them, 

Noel had drifted away from the reflection that had 
started his mental argument on faith, but now found 
his way back to it, by degrees. 

The passion he had for Adele Cressy might be 
noble; nay, there might be the hand of God in it. 
This, however, faith could not determine. He must 
reason it out, praying for guidance. 

But the moment he began to reason he ran against 


Comedy and Drama 173 

what seemed to be an insurmountable obstacle. His 
life work. 

That Adele would be content with the allowance 
of a missionary's wife was incomprehensible to him. 
It took a high-minded girl to contemplate with 
serenity a life of poverty and uncertainty. Would 
Adele ever be able to do so? 

Noel sighed as the answer came to him. Adele 
was by nature a lover of finery and pleasure — . But 
the missionary came to a halt. Who was he that he 
should doubt the power of the gospel to save from 
worldly allurements? Was the “plan of salvation” 
so weak a thing that a girl's vanity might set it 
aside? 

Thus he floundered, working on another pen-and- 
ink sketch of Adele the while, — when his landlady 
announced that the church committee had arrived 
and would be pleased to interview him. 

With youthful perversity Noel leaned the sketch 
against a vase, scorning to conceal an innocent thing, 
and received his interlocutors. 

There were three of them ; two of whom the mis- 
sionary recognized as habitual apologists for com- 
promise, not to say Brother Jacobs, and the third a 
good-natured man. Brother Simpson, a veritable 
pacifist among religionists. 

Robert Wade, a deacon in the branch, opened the 


174 


Peter Bosten 


matter ; his right-hand-man, Brother Carswell, draw- 
ing a ludicrously long face the while. Brother Simp- 
son seemed a trifle embarrassed. Noel listened to 
what the deacon had to say, calmly at first, but with 
heightened color by and by. 

“For you know, brethren,’’ Mr. Wade concluded, 
“it is our duty to show ourselves the humblest of all 
people, and guard against doing anything that would 
serve as a stumblingblock for our fellow servants.” 

This was about as specific as the brother became ; 
and when Noel drew a long breath, preparatory to 
replying, he could scarcely repress a smile. 

“Now look here, brethren,” he began, and his tone 
was free from the tragic element that sounded so 
absurd in the deacon’s, “let us come to the point. 
Is this committee to make its report back to the 
branch?” 

There was a wavering affirmative. 

“Very well, then. What would you prefer to re- 
port?” 

After beating about the bush awhile Brother 
Wade managed to convey the information that an 
apology would be most satisfactory. 

“An apology for what?” asked the Missourian 
mercilessly. 

There was further hesitation ; but by degrees the 


Comedy and Drama 175 

question was answered as the propounder knew it 
would be. 

“Then/' he returned, quickly, “go back and tell 
them that I will not apologize. When do you re- 
port?" 

“To-night, after prayer meeting," said the pacifist, 
glad of an opportunity of doing something toward 
the discharge of his unpleasant duty. 

Noel rose, as a sign that he was through with the 
affair; but Brother Carswell, whose eyes had been 
wandering frequently to the actress sketch to his 
right, suddenly showed alarm ; and begged the pastor 
to resume his seat. 

“There is another little matter I feel it my duty to 
bring to your attention," he remarked. 

Noel sat down and looked the speaker (when it 
was possible) in the eye. 

“Before coming here this afternoon. Brother 
Crayne, a member of the branch called me up and 
informed me that a friend of hers, who does not be- 
long to the church but who has heard you speak and 
knows you on the street, had the pleasure, as the 
sister put it, of giving you a pass to a certain enter- 
tainment, the character of which — ." 

Brother Carswell lost courage at this juncture, 
owing to the luster of the Missourian’s eye, and came 
to a full stop. 


176 


Peter Bosten 


“Don’t sidetrack the issue further,” said Noel, in 
tones that were half defiant, half pitying. “I thor- 
oughly understand your visit.” 

He gulped, as though swallowing something very 
distasteful to him, and the expression of his features 
was such that it might be said he “made a face.” 
Then he continued. 

“Do you three gentlemen” — he did not call them 
“brethren” this time — “consider yourselves compe- 
tent, from the standpoint of knowledge and spirit- 
uality, to undertake such an important mission as 
that of excusing and perpetuating the pride of a 
hypocrite?” 

The relevance of the remark seemed not quite ap- 
parent to them, but they finally managed to grasp its 
meaning. And realizing that the pastor was un- 
swerving in his determination to stand his ground, 
the deacon resorted to a last means of coercing him. 

“You will understand. Brother Crayne,” he began, 
“that I do not wish to implicate anyone else in this 
little unpleasantness.” He glanced toward the 
kitchen. “But for the sake of convincing you that 
we can all afford to be, hem! charitable, I may say 
that for our missionaries to ride around late at night 
in a taxi, is a very bad example for the young of 
the ” 


The Missourian rose abruptly. “I shall report to 


Comedy and Drama 


177 


the minister in charge to-night/’ he said, ‘‘by letter.” 

With that he turned and left them to console each 
other. Did he slam the door of the living room as he 
went out of the house? 

Disgusted with the fruits of his efforts, and feel- 
ing, somehow, that he must not go away empty- 
handed, Brother Wade seized the pen^and-ink sketch 
of Adele Cressy, and bore it off with him. It was, 
to say the least, proof that the pastor frittered away 
his time on worldly pursuits, land would be a nice 
item of evidence against him in case of a church 
court. 

Half an hour later Noel returned to the house and 
walked directly to the little writing table in the liv- 
ing room. Obviously he had come back for the 
sketch. 

Being in an uncompromising frame of mind he 
subjected the landlady to a mild form of inquisition; 
at last compelling her to admit that she had not seen 
the deacon take the sketch but had heard him make 
a remark in leaving that indicated he had it in his 
possession. 

When he learned this the Missourian was glad he 
had dealt arbitrarily with the committee. There was 
no staying in this branch after such contemptible 
work. 

Noel sat down and wrote a letter to the minister in 


Peter Bosten 


178 

I 

charge, resigning the temporary pastorship of Lad- 
ner ; then set out for the Quincy Hotel, where Adele 
Cressy was staying. 

“ril go back among strangers,” he told her, “where 
I can preach the simple message of salvation un- 
hampered by the egotism of backsliding members. 
Ptastoral work is too much for me, Adele. Perhaps 
I am too inexperienced; I don't know.” After a 
short pause he added: “Sometimes I think it was a 
mistake for me to enter the field at all.” 

She sought his gaze, with eyes that gave him a 
glimpse of the fires that burned beneath. They were 
sitting beside each other in la private parlor of her 
hotel. 

“Noel,” she asked, with an earnestness of manner 
that carried force, “do you believe in the kind of love 
that aches eternally, and never seems to bring any- 
thing but suffering, disappointment?” 

What had this to do with the matter of which he 
had been speaking? He gave her a puzzled look; 
but immediately this expression faded, and a deep 
glow betrayed his understanding. 

“Do you think,” she went on, “that it is sincere, 
or would you prefer the more ethereal kind that 
worships, forgetting its moderate pangs, most of 
the time, in religion and other things?” 

Now, the Missourian was of an artistic nature, and 


Comedy and Drama 


179 


had, in abundance, what is called '‘temperament.” 
It was impossible for him to stoically, or even phil- 
osophically, survey suffering of any kind. 

Suffering is what he saw in Adele's expression; 
the bitterness of an unwelcome affection. The sight 
aroused his pity, but it did more than that ; it spurred 
him on to a confession that had many a time almost 
escaped him. 

Impulsively he took her hands in his, an act which 
had the effect of weakening her powers of resistance ; 
and drawing her slightly toward him, spoke frankly 
of his feelings regarding her; also, of the accom- 
panying fear. 

Before they quite realized their situation, impelled 
as they were by natural forces, they were making 
mutual confessions of regard, he confusedly, she con- 
vincingly. 

“Oh, Noel,” she said, putting a note in her voice 
that compelled his sympathy, “you can’t understand 
it, fully, wonderful as you are ! It is almost a phys- 
ical agony. There are times when I can feel my 
heart literally pain.” 

Her words humbled him. This was not a conven- 
tional thing for a woman to do; but Noel was not 
wedded to conventionality. Adele’s confession was 
something sacred. It carried a potentiality, never- 
theless, that stirred him deeply. 


180 


Peter Bosten 


“You do not need to speak your opinion of me, 
Noel,’" she continued. “I know your thoughts. You 
consider me worldly, vain, superficial.'' He made a 
sober gesture of disagreement, but she ignored it. 
“Perhaps you are right; but then you may, to some 
extent, be wronging me. I admit that I love beauti- 
ful things, and can not delve into religion as some 
people can. But my heart is right, and I have more 
determination than some of your goody people. 

“My love may seem physical to you. You may not 
be able to idolize me. But I flatter myself that I 
know most men better than they know themselves; 
and perhaps I know something of your nature that is 
a mystery to yourself. Did that ever strike you, 
Noel? 

“Doubtless you imagine you could be for ever 
happy with Jessie Kirkton? We both are thinking 
of her, so why not speak of her? But Noel, dear, I 
sincerely believe you could not. You'd never allow 
yourself to be unkind, or even think disloyal things 
about her; but there would come times when your- 
heart would be hungry, your soul empty. Then you 
would think of the sweet, God-given passion that I 
had had for you — ." Tears came to the surface here, 
and Adele allowed them to remain on her cheeks. 
Her entreaty, she realized, was rapidly winning him ; 
and she followed up her advantage with feverish, 


Comedy and Drama 


181 


though natural, eloquence. '‘It is not what the 
preachers call ‘carnal,’ Noel. It is as pure as any- 
thing in this world. You have felt it yourself, and 
therefore it must be. For I know that you, above 
anyone else on earth, are good all the way through.” 

She reached the point, at last, where emotion over- 
powered restraint; and lying in his arms she wept 
unaffectedly. 

This was hard for the Missourian to endure ; and 
yet he was conscious of a wild, unknown happiness. 

“Adele,” he said, kindly, “let us talk the matter 
over calmly. Don’t you see how I am placed?” 

Her face was still hidden, but she was more com- 
posed. 

“I am a missionary, and what allowance I receive 
goes to my mother. What could I do for a girl who 
has been used to the luxury you have?” 

When she realized that his objection concerned 
money, not his attachment, of whatever nature it 
was, for Jessie Kirkton, Adele took heart. 

“Noel,” she said, turning her face until their eyes 
met, “you don’t yet seem to believe that I am in 
earnest. Do you think that money, clothes, pleas- 
ures, mean anything to me without you ?” 

The actress may have thought she meant every 
word of this statement. Under certain influences it 
is possible to be deceived as to the true state of one’s 


182 


Peter Bosten 


feelings — especially if one is blessed (or cursed) 
with “temperament/' 

“Maybe I have misjudged you,” he returned, after 
a moment's thought. “If so, I beg your forgiveness. 
But, Adele, I can't quite feel that it would be right. 
Suppose you put yourself in Jessie's place, for a 
moment: how would you regard an individual who 
contemplated what ?' ' 

For answer she threw her arms about his neck. 
He did contemplate “it,” then ! 

And it was in this position that Peter found them, 
a moment later, as he innocently walked into the 
parlor. 

“I'll take you with me for a year,” she was saying. 
“You can study art — ^and make money at it too. 
Then, some day, you can take up your church work 
again .” 

“I beg your pardon,” said the intruder, being 
caught in the act of trying to escape unseen. 

“Peter!” exclaimed Noel, gently extricating him- 
self from his surroundings. 


Peter Takes a Hand 


183 


CHAPTER XI 
PETER TAKES A HAND 

The Kansan's first article on the Philadelphia 
strike had resulted in his recall. 

‘T didn't send you down there to write a sermon," 
explained the editor, hotly, as Peter stood before his 
desk. 

“Pardon me, but I don't quite understand." 

The “chief" grunted. “You don't eh? Well, you 
will when you're in the newspaper business a while. 
Our mission is not that of a missionary among the 
heathen. Get that idea out of your head right on the 
start and it will save you a lot of trouble. Try to 
remember, in every squib you write, that the main 
object of an up-to-date journal is to make money — 
not converts. Why, you said enough in that edi- 
torial to turn all the employers in Ladner against 


“But I told the truth," interrupted the reporter ; 
and was in turn interrupted : 

“ — Never mind that. Sometimes we can't do a 
worse thing than tell the truth." 

“But in this case, sir," Peter objected, “the men 
were being treated shamefully by a compact of 
crooked politicians and barbarous millionaires. Poor 


184 


Peter Bosten 


fellows who only wanted enough to live on; who 
were fighting not for pleasures and luxuries but 
simply bread for their families, were knocked down 
in the streets; some of them even killed/' 

The editor bit the end off a cigar and described a 
semicircular motion with his arm. 

“I don't doubt it," he said, the merest trace of a 
smile appearing around the comers of his mouth. 
“But the Evening Globe can't afford to side with the 
under dog, my boy. Now let you and me understand 
each other right here. If I were like some of our 
worthy newspaper lords I'd make myself believe I 
was doing my duty by championing the cause of 
wealth. But I have no illusions in this regard. My 
game is to make money, just as the game of the other 
fellow is to make money ; but the difference between 
us is that he likes deceiving himself and I don't. 
About the only kind of honesty I know, is honesty 
with myself — and that I am loath to surrender. But 
as the owner of a newspaper, Mr. Bosten, I know I 
am a liar and several other things, but certainly not 
a reformer." 

Peter was not sure whether he ought to take these 
remarks seriously or not. He looked puzzled. 

“But you believe in reform — down in your heart, 
don't you ?" he asked, presently. 

“I reckon I do. But if I began working out my 


Peter Takes a Hand 


185 


ideas on reform the Evening Globe would last about 
six months. The big advertisers would leave me, 
conservative thinkers would say I had gone crazy, 
even the preachers would shake their heads and whis- 
per to each other about my lack of wisdom.” 

The Kansan grinned: his humiliation at being 
called back from Philadelphia was vanishing. He 
was beginning to appreciate the chief's cynical can- 
dor, realizing that considerable honesty of thought 
accompanied it. 

‘‘How is it,” he asked, “that honest-minded men 
of intellect like you get into this dirty old game of 
money-grabbing and sacrifice their ideals one by 
one?” 

The question was something of a stunner to the 
editor. He eyed the Kansan interestedly, almost ad- 
miringly. 

‘‘By gosh,” he replied, emitting a great cloud of 
cigar smoke, “I have often asked myself that ques- 
tion. But it's hard to answer. We seem to get 

sucked into the swim against our will. First we fall 
in love with some woman who demands, or whom we 
think demands, a lot of us. We begin our money- 
getting there. We must make her as good a home as 
her neighbor; clothe her as finely and provide her 
with the same leisure. But the task is a big one, in 
an environment where thousands of other men, some 


186 


Peter Bosten 


of them smarter than ourselves, are trying to do the 
same thing. As others are not using legitimate 
means of attaining their ends, we, in order to cope 
successfully with them, are obliged to start using 
their tricks. Then comes the family. The boys and 
girls grow up and they begin their demands. They 
must have all the things their school or college asso- 
ciates have. The old man sits back with his cigar 
and sizes the situation up. He says to himself : Tf 
my children go without some of the pleasures Tom 
Brown's possess, Tom Brown and the other neigh- 
bors will think me incompetent.' This hurts his 
masculine pride, and he digs in harder than ever. 
He goes after the dollar with renewed vim, deter- 
mined to get it by hook or crook. Usually, of course, 
— since others are doing it — he gets it by crook. At 
last the game gets hold of him. He may have all the 
money he needs, as I have myself, probably; but he 
can’t give up the game. It has him. He loves to pit 
his brains and experience against those of other men. 
He even gets so hard that he enjoys seeing a com- 
petitor suffer." 

The speaker paused to relight his cigar, and the 
listener put a pointed question. 

‘Tf it’s the game that appeals to you, why don't 
you take a sporting chance and side with right occa- 
sionally?" 


Peter Takes a Hand 


187 


The editor laughed aloud at this remark, and ut- 
tered a mild profanity. 

'‘That was rather clever,’' he admitted, chuckling 
over it afresh. “It almost calls my bluff, doesn’t it? 
But you overlook one point, Boston” — Peter was flat- 
tered with the familiarity. “ — Which is this. In 
any game a man wants la fair chance, and there is 
none at all for the champion of right. He is up 
against impossible odds. That, in the last analysis, 
is why I go on bluffing the public. Once in a while 
I take up the cudgel in some worthy cause, without 
any thought of profit; but I never go to such ex- 
tremes as continued adherence to truth and right 
would carry me. I am only human, you know; and 
this earth is far from heaven. The laws that govern 
us are imperfect, so how can you expect the governed 
to be perfect?” 

Peter rarely ignored a direct challenge like this. 
He loved argument, moreover, with a man of brain. 

“But why should you,” he demanded, “conform to 
laws that only men have made ? Are you not a man 
yourself?” 

The chief responded with a question. Irrelevant 
it seemed at the moment. 

“Do you believe in God?” he asked, simply. 

“No,” returned Peter; ‘‘not exactly. At least not 
the kind of god that most people worship. I can not 


188 


Peter Bosten 


comprehend the Infinite, as many men claim to do/^ 

“How about religion?’' 

“I reject it as the creation of men; unnecessary, 
illusory.” 

'‘You are an evolutionist then?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good !” returned the editor. “So am I. Then let 
me remind you that the onward march of the uni- 
verse is ruthless, unsentimental. We are what we 
are because of present and past environment. We 
achieve what we do by reason of effort, not faith. 
We are guided by laws that our environment has 
made, which can not be more noble than that en- 
vironment. I, the owner of the Evening Globe, was 
born in this generation; a generation in which men 
cheat and deceive each other. I am no better or 
worse than my environment. If I had not lived 
until the year 2500 A. D. I would have been a nobler 
creature — since the evolution of man is upward. But 
living now I do as my fellows now do. My ideals 
are those of to-day, and to-morrow’s ideals are of no 
present use to me. Those we call reformers are 
dreamers : they live in the future and do not accom- 
plish anything to-day.” 

“But why do they desire to accomplish something 
unaccomplished?” Peter asked, suddenly. 

“Ah,” came the reply, “now you are getting into 


Petei' Takes a Hand 


189 


religion — which you and I do not accept. Their im- 
practical desires are the result of the delusion we 
know by the name of ‘faith.’ It concerns the un- 
known, and can have no place in the mind of a logical, 
practical man.” 

The Kansan was nonplussed for a moment; but 
presently he recalled a statement of the editor’s that 
helped him. 

“You asserted that the tendency of evolution was 
‘upward.’ What do you mean by ‘upward’?” 

The smoker chewed his cigar a moment in silence, 
finally grinning. 

“I suppose,” he remarked, “that I ought to be 
proud of a secretary with such a faculty for argu- 
ment. But what are you driving at in your question, 
Boston ? I don’t believe you are a Free Thinker after 
all.” 

The remark struck home. Peter wondered to 
what extent the influence and conversation of Noel 
Crayne had changed his habits of thought. Was he 
reaching out for the “spiritual understanding” which 
Noel claimed to possess? 

“I try to be,” he replied. “But I am not wedded to 
any creed, — the agnostic’s or any other. What I am 
trying to find is Truth ; and discussions like this are 
an invaluable aid. The question I put to you is one 
I have often put to myself. It is easy to say that the 


190 


Peter Bosten 


trend of evolution is upward : but of what standards 
are we thinking when we make the assertion, and 
who has created them? Who is the judge of what is 
elevating and what is not; of the noble and the ig- 
noble?’^ 

“Man,'' returned the editor, decisively. “And in 
proportion as he develops in the scale of life his 
standards rise. The standards to-day are higher 
than they were yesterday. You and I live to-day, 
instead of yesterday or to-morrow, and are what we 
are because of our surroundings. Therefore, Bos- 
ten, don't join the ranks of the Socialists and dream- 
ers and spoil your present-day comforts. Learn to 
smoke, like me, and ease that prairie conscience of 
yours! Of one thing in this world we are sure: a 
man can be happy if he wants to. Look at me : I have 
not scrupled to gobble up my neighbor, j ust as he has 
not scrupled to gobble up somebody else. But I am 
healthy and happy. And I am respected. . . . Here, 
take these readers down to the Frolic Theater and 
see if they are satisfactory. If not, write others. 
They've been taking good space lately." 

As he walked toward the theater Peter reviewed 
his chief's answer to the question regarding the 
morals of evolution, and was far from satisfied 
with the reply. 

In fact, Peter recognized that there had been no 


Peter Takes a Hand 


191 


reply at all. The chief's words were an equivocation. 
He had ignored the question. Instead of attempting 
to give the nature and origin of moral standards he 
had made the assumption that they existed and pro- 
gressed; but what 'progression involved, he did not 
attempt to say. 

Did the editor comprehend ? Peter asked himself. 
Had the inner meaning of the question been intelli- 
gible to him ? 

“The inner meaning," repeated the Kansan. “What 
is it, anyway? What is this element reformers pos- 
sess, which makes them not only dissatisfied with 
their environment but lifts them above it? What is 
this Thing by which we judge all things? Is it the 
same potentiality that Noel Crayne and his fellow 
believers possess? If so what is its nature? And 
why do some men cherish it and others fail to com- 
prehend it? If the chief possessed it would he work 
out his unhumanitarian ideas and smoke himself into 
complacency as he does? If I were wholly without 
it would I have the desire I have to make myself and 
the world better?" 

Peter contrasted the selfish principles his editor 
cherished with the high ideals of truly religious peo- 
ple. The latter might be deceived, but even so were 
not their beliefs, and practices based upon such, in- 


192 


Peter Bosten 


finitely more desirable from the standpoint of com- 
mon rectitude than those of men like the editor? 

'‘Yes/' murmured the Kansan, “I concede that. To 
be honest, I must. But this does not necessarily 
make the ideals of religious people dependent upon 
their beliefs. There are honest, noble, striving ag- 
nostics and infidels. The question is: do men and 
women endeavor to do ‘right' more earnestly with 
faith, belief in heavenly rewards and so on, as an 
incentive, than they would merely on principle? If 
so, then religion is desirable — ^for the present, at any 
rate. But may there not come a time when human 
beings will do right and love right for the sake of 
the thing itself? In that case, of course, there would 
still have to be an incentive. And what would it be? 
What is it in my own life, for instance?" 

Here, as Noel had done in mentally discussing the 
same question, Peter came to the end of reason. 
That he had an incentive for doing noble deeds, for 
aiding and loving his fellow men, for instance, he 
was convinced; but what it was he could not deter- 
mine. It was a desire of the heart. But whence had 
it come? “From God," said religionists. “That is 
an assumption," murmured the thinker. “I can not 
accept it. It does not appeal to me." 

Yet Peter was unable to answer the question him- 
self, and the realization saddened him. Noel's be- 


Peter Takes a Hand 


193 


lief that the impulse to do good came from God made 
him happy. 

At the theater the newspaperman learned Adele 
Cressy^s address ; and, the readers having proven ac- 
ceptable, called at the hotel on his way back to the 
office. Peter was half glad he had been recalled 
from Philadelphia so soon, for now he had ample 
time, before “The Prince of Pilsen^^ left town, to 
fathom the mystery involving Noel Crayne- 

The hotel clerk gave him the number of the ac- 
tress's room and told him if he did not find her there 
to look in the private parlors. It was while doing 
so that the Kansan found them in each other's arms, 
as heretofore recorded. 

To say that Adele was embarrassed, in spite of 
the fact that she went through love scenes before an 
audience every day, would be putting it mildly. She 
colored violently, stammered confused words of 
greeting, and a moment afterwards excused herself, 
leaving the old friends together. 

Owing to the situation in which he had been found 
Noel was naturally not quite himself for a while; but 
the presence of his chum at length restored him, and 
they drifted into their old intimacy. 

“I'm dying for an explanation of all this," grinned 
the Kansan, when he deemed the remark safe. “Not 
out of idle curiosity, you know." 


194 


Peter Bosten 


'‘I know that,” Noel replied, his gaze wavering. 
“There were never many superficialities, let alone 
conventionalities, between you and me, Peter.” 

The tone was pensive. As a matter of fact, Noel 
was being carried back to other times and another 
environment. Since last seeing Peter he had taken 
leave of Jessie Kirkton, at Chicago, and expressed to 
her a hope she reciprocated, that “God would open 
the way before them.” 

Natural reaction from an infatuated condition of 
mind was enhanced by the reminiscences that came 
with Peter. 

The missionary did not speak with his customary 
lucidity. He described his work in Ladner and the 
events that had led up to his meeting with the actress, 
with a certain languor of tone; attaching, Peter 
thought, exaggerated importance to the opposition 
of a fellow church member, and speaking of his pas- 
sion for Adele with unconvincing eloquence. 

“My dear old fellow,” said the Kansan, at last, 
“you are not yourself. I hear the voice and see the 
face I knew in Missouri ; but they seem to lack some 
of their old strength — ^you will forgive me for say- 
ing it.” The Missourian was regarding him intently, 
a troubled frown on his countenance. “What you 
need is a change. Get away from these little minds 
that can't stand the truth here in Ladner. Go back 


Peter Takes a Hand 


195 


home for the summer, and reinforce yourself. You 
should have gone to conference this year, and talked 
things over with Jessie. You’re overdoing this re- 
ligious game, Noel. And the woman question — 
don’t let it upset you. This Cressy girl may be all 
right ; in fact, I always liked her in la way ; but she’s 
not for you. I couldn’t help overhearing her hint 
that she’d support you by her acting and carry you 
along on the road, as a free-lance artist. That sounds 
romantic at present, but you wouldn’t last a month. 
The life would disgust you, Noel — a man of your 
ambitions and sentiments. It’s the fight for you ; the 
fight against ease and luxury and mortal foolishness. 
I can plainly see that. And as for the feeling you 
have for Adele — it wouldn’t last. It would burn 
itself out on one side or the other. You are both 
temperamental, both dipped in the fire, and matri- 
mony would change your romance into something 
that would terrify you.” 

Peter halted a moment, to give his friend the op- 
portunity of putting in a word; but Noel sat like one 
in a stupor, his eyes holding the dim luster of pain. 
Nevertheless, it was obvious that his mental faculties 
were alert. 

“That day you first told me about Adele you con- 
vinced me, if I had not been already convinced, that 
Jessie Kirkton was the only girl in the world for you. 


196 


Peter Bosten 


You think she is of your own disposition — but she 
isn’t. You are opposites. Her aspirations may 
correspond with yours, but her make-up is dif- 
ferent. You appear to be a calm, cool customer 
on the surface; but down beneath are fires that 
would even burn actresses up if they once got go- 
ing. It is these that hold Jessie Kirkton, too; just 
as it is her sweet calmness of soul that so vitally 
appeals to your soul. Infatuations may come and 
go ; but when the noon sun wanes and twilight calls, 
your heart cries out for the rest only one other heart 
can give. You know this; but in moments like the 
present, under the spell of these physical passions of 
ours, you overlook it — as all men do at one time or 
another in their lives.” 

Noel had dropped his head in his hands, and the 
Kansan’s voice grew softer. 

“I’m glad I turned up, Noel. When a fellow fights 
this battle alone he sometimes loses out. Your faith 
might have helped you ; I don’t know. But I do know 
that the dispassionate views of a friend, a real friend, 
often do help. I had an attack myself, Noel, before 
I met Helen Dyke. That is how I was so sure that 
she was the right one. Of course, it hasn’t worked 
out: but — I still — .” 

He broke off, with a sigh ; then quickly changed his 
tone. 


Peter Takes a Hand 


197 


“Cheer up, old top,'' he said, striking the Missour- 
ian's knee heartily, “it's all in a lifetime ! We've got 
to come through it. When it's all over we'll be wiser, 
and then maybe the universe will give us a rest." 

Noel raised his head slowly, and Peter saw the 
phenomenon of a tear — the tear that a man may shed 
once in his life for a woman. 

“Peter," he said, rather unsteadily, “God sent you 
to me. I know he did. You have been his instru- 
ment; you with your human reasoning and knowl- 
edge gained in the fight. These few words of yours 
seem to have made a new person of me. I see things 
differently than I did half an hour ago. Come, let 
us go for a walk — out into the fresh air." But the 
Missourian checked himself. “No," he said, “there's 
Adele. I can't go away like this." 

“Sure you can," returned Peter. “Leave Adele to 
me." 

It flashed across the missionary's mind that this 
might be another turn in an unseen plan that would 
work out for the best. Peter and Adele might form 
an attachment, — ^who knew? Without another word 
he followed the Kansan out, his mind reverting to 
the marvel of Peter's “instrumentality." 

“Yes," he resumed, on the street, “in spite of your 
faithlessness, Peter, the Lord has used you. Oh, I 
wish you could believe in his mercy and love as I do !" 


198 


Peter Bosten 


Peter was silent. In truth, he was analyzing a 
half-formed wish in his own heart that did not alto- 
gether antagonize Noel's. Faith must be sweet, after 
all: to feel assurance that an all- wise Power ever 
guided in the affairs of men, despite their littleness, 
would be infinite consolation. Wishing, however, did 
not seem to make this faith possible. 

“By the way,” asked the Missourian, after a short 
silence, “were you serious in suggesting that I go 
back West for a visit?” 

“Yes, indeed,” replied Peter, “and you're going, 
too. I've got the money to spare and I'm just dying 
to put it out at interest. Noel, old boy, it's not for 
your own sake alone. Think of Jessie. These hearts 
of ours demand a certain amount of attention, you 
know. That ought to be clear to you after ” 

“It is, Peter ; it is ! I believe I'll accept your advice 
— and your help. It will be a pleasure to put myself 
under further obligation to you.” 

Noel then told him of having resigned the pastor- 
ship of Ladner Branch, and the agnostic agreed that 
it was a sensible thing to do, under the circum- 
stances. But, even as he thus expressed himself, 
there was a conviction in his mind that the Noel 
Crayne of the future should deal more masterfully 
with such a situation. 

“And Peter,'' said the Missourian, as they parted. 


Peter Takes a Hand 


199 


for the time being, at the Globe office, ‘‘I hope you 
will sound as convincing to Adele, when you see her, 
as you did to mef’ 

'‘Where’s you faith?” laughed the Kansan, disap- 
pearing through a revolving door. 

“Where, indeed !” murmured Noel, turning in the 
direction of his boarding house, and thinking sol- 
emnly of his first great temptation. 


200 


Peter Bosten 


CHAPTER XII 

IN JOURNALISM 

Peter got an hour's leave from his employer and 
went immediately back to the Quincy Hotel. He 
wanted to interview the actress before she should 
have a chance to see Noel. 

En route, he decided upon a plan of attack. He 
would make her feel that she had grossly wronged 
both the church and a pair of true lovers. 

Adele was still in her room, and she consented to 
interview the caller whom a bellboy had announced. 
Peter awaited her in the parlor they had occupied a 
short time since, strengthening his psychologic posi- 
tion the while. He felt that he knew the way of 
temperamental persons better than the unsophisti- 
cated missionary did, and was not in fear of going 
down to defeat before the actress. 

He observed, as she entered, that her eyes were 
not tear-marked and that her dress had been 
changed. Evidently, instead of sobbing on a pillow, 
she had been improving slightly on nature. That she 
could do so, Peter hardly felt competent to deny. 
Truly, she did look beautiful in this dainty attire. 

'‘Miss Cressy," he said, rising, “I came to apolo- 


In Journalism 


201 


gize for interrupting you a while ago, and to have a 
little chat, if you don't mind?" 

She smiled. ^‘Aren't you rather formal?" 

“Perhaps," he laughed. “But you've become so 
great I'm rather shaky in your presence, you know." 

She waved the gallantry aside, but, obviously, was 
not altogether displeased with it. 

“We were choir members together in Missouri, 
weren't we? And, oh yes — do you remember the 
ghost party at Gamers'? Why, that was where we 
first got really acquainted, wasn't it?" 

“I believe it was." He sighed, genuinely ; an item 
that did not escape her. “Those were the best times 
I ever spent in my life." Peter unwittingly lapsed 
into reverie, the while she studied him. 

By and by she spoke, softly. 

“I met a friend of yours not long ago, Mr. Boston. 
She's attending Princeton University now." 

The Kansan could feel the blood suffusing his 
cheeks; but he casually answered: “Oh, is that so?" 
After which, with great alacrity, he changed the sub- 
ject of conversation. 

“I suppose you have a lot of callers in a day, and 
I won't keep you here any longer than I can help. 
Frankly, Miss Cressy, I came on Noel's behalf — ^are 
you surprised?" 


202 


Peter Bosten 


She returned his gaze scrutinizingly. 

“Did Noel send you?” 

“No indeed. He doesn't know I am here.” A 
pause. “Adele,” — he put intimacy into his tone as 
well as his speech, “you are worlds wiser than our 
missionary. He is a baby in experience compared 
with you. Do you understand what I am getting at?” 

She became indignant immediately, necessitating 
a little severity on the Kansan's part. 

“I see that you do,” he continued. “Now listen 
here, it isn't fair to do what you're doing. Do you 
think it is?” 

She rose, as if to leave; and Peter became des- 
perate. 

“You haven't got the courage to listen to me — is 
that it?” 

Pride seized her, at this, and sitting down again 
she eyed him with hostility, her color exceedingly 
high. 

“I can't see,” she observed, with more than a touch 
of sarcasm, “where you come in, Mr. Bosten.” 

He grinned under the thrust, and deemed it ad- 
visable to remain good-natured. 

“That's how all the trouble started,” he answered. 
“I did come in. And I'm thinking it was a stroke of 
fate. You had him pretty well hypnotized, if you'll 
pardon the expression. You know. Miss Cressy, 


In Journalism 


203 


Noel hasn't the heart to refuse anybody anything. 
He's too good-natured to live. I wish you could have 
seen him a moment after you had gone, though. 
Honestly, he almost cried." 

A flash of pity crossed her face, and the orator 
followed up his advantage. He used every means 
known to him of convincing a woman of her cruelty. 
He became eloquent upon the ideal affection existing 
between a bishop's niece and a lonesome young 
dreamer, away off at the end of the earth ; intimated 
that any fascinating woman who would take advan- 
tage of such a situation, particularly when she knew 
it meant the severing of religious as well as heart ties, 
must be very wicked indeed ; spoke of the infatuation 
a person of temperament may wrongfully exercise 
for a sympathetic fellow artist, and of the singular 
unhappiness of marriages based upon such infatua- 
tion: in fact, dissertated at such great length and 
with such apparent earnestness that finally the ac- 
tress wept real tears and acknowledged that she had 
been guided by passion rather than reason. 

At this stage of the interview Peter began admin- 
istering the balm of sympathy, in the form of the 
nobler kind of flattery; finally enjoying the supreme 
satisfaction of seeing a gradual change in Adele's 
feelings toward him. Before he left her they shook 


204 


Peter Bosten 


hands warmly and made an engagement for dinner 
together after the theater. 

“Something mighty honest about that girl, at 
that,” he soliloquized on leaving the hotel. 

All the way back to the office he thought of her; 
excusing her actions toward Noel on the grounds of 
temperament, of which she undoubtedly possessed a 
liberal share; sympathizing with her on this score, 
in fact, and hoping it would not be the cause of sor- 
row in her life. That she had kept herself unspotted 
thus far he believed : that she would continue to do 
so he found it harder to believe. There was no more 
difficult path to honestly tread than that which led 
from the footlights to the stage door. Reading and 
reportorial observation had convinced the Kansan of 
that. 

Noel and Jessie had deserted his thoughts com- 
pletely, for the moment. Their happiness was now 
assured. But Adele Cressy, the actress who had 
sung her first songs in prayer meeting, and risen 
to music-hall fame in a few months, remained in 
his mind. He speculated, too, on the influence of 
her personality. He could feel it now himself, as he 
had felt it, to some extent, the morning they had met 
in the basement of the Petit City church. What if, 
one day, she should choose to fancy him? Would he 
be able to resist her? 


In Journalism 


205 


A cynical smile crept over the Kansan’s face at 
the reflection. He recalled his one and only real love 
affair and the distrust that had killed it. No, — no 
more of that for him. He was through with such 
pangs. Helen Dyke might be at Princeton a thou- 
sand times, or might live on the same street with 
him, for all he cared. The gulf would always remain 
between them. Nor was it a gulf of faith, as far 
as Peter could see. It was a gulf of moral suspicion. 
She did not believe in him, regardless of his creed. 
That was the bitter thought, the stumblingblock to 
his happiness. 

In the course of a few days Noel departed for the 
West, without bidding Adele farewell. She ex- 
pressed herself to Peter, who dined with her twice 
before ‘‘The Prince of Pilsen” left town, as '‘just as 
glad they were spared the awkwardness of a part- 
ing”; and Peter noted with gratification that the 
tears did not stand in her eyes, either. 

However, let it be said that even the shrewd and 
feminine-suspecting Kansan did not know woman 
thoroughly. He failed to give Adele credit for the 
strength of character she possessed. He did not 
know how sorely she strove against misery at this 
time. He saw her at the train, as she departed for 
another city ; but did not see into her stateroom when 
the train moved out. 


206 


Peter Bosten 


Noel did not dissemble so well as the actress before 
their mutual friend, Peter. His cheeks had lost 
color, in one short week; and now, as he said those 
simple words which meant ''God be with you,^’ his 
voice was unsteady. 

"Dear old fellow,’’ murmured the Kansan, as he 
turned back, rather heartsick himself, to this city 
that held nothing of particular interest to him now, 
"I wish I were going with you.” 

In the Missourian’s presence Peter always felt 
happy. Noel added something to his life that came 
close to making it complete. 

Now, however, he was alone again. Ladner might 
be a "small puddle” (to use the Park Row editor’s 
metaphor) as compared with New York; but it was 
big enough to make a stranger feel lost. 

Peter was reflecting, one afternoon, several weeks 
after his friend’s departure, on the perversity of a 
fate that should keep on separating them like this, 
when the "chief” rang for him. 

"Go up to this address,” came the order, "and get 
a story from the new preacher who is staying there. 
One of the big guns in this church has promised to 
take weekly space if we’ll pay some attention to their 
congregation. Seems their religion needs popu- 
larity ; so Mr. What’s-his-name is going to buy some. 


In Journalism 


207 


and he thinks we're the fellows who sell it. I guess 
we are too, eh, Bosten?" 

Peter was treated with informal good-fellowship 
by his employer when the latter was not smoking too 
much. 

‘I'm afraid we are," he replied. “By the way, 
how did you like that last editorial of mine?" 

“Terrible," returned the editor. “Too true to life 
and too literary. You'll have to get down to earth." 

“I thought you said it was true to life?" 

“Yes — Oh, get out of here and don't bother me. 
And remember, give that guy a boost, no matter how 
big a scoundrel he is." 

Mechanically the secretary-reporter-hack betook 
himself off, musing on the Shame of Journalism. He 
made a mental note of the title, deciding to write an 
essay on it in his spare time, and not submit it for 
publication. 

The name on his memorandum slip seemed 
vaguely familiar to Peter, but he could not remem- 
ber where he had heard it. The address denoted an 
aristocratic locality. 

“Rather ironical," he soliloquized, walking in the 
shade of a row of great chestnuts, “that a fellow of 
my convictions should be assigned a job of this sort. 
This is loathsome work, this fawning upon wealth. 


208 


Peter Bosten 


ril sicken of it one of these days and fly away to 
the hills.” 

He entered a heavy iron gate and walked up a 
gravel path leading to broad steps of brownstone, 
which gave access to a series of verandas surround- 
ing the mansion. Here, he smiled to himself, was 
“filler” for an article, in case the preacher proved un- 
worthy of description. 

A maid admitted him, and he was immediately 
confronted by an attractive-looking young woman 
of perhaps twenty, whose mode of dress suited her 
features and comported with her environment. She 
seemed very pleased to make the acquaintance of a 
representative of the Evening Globe, and, with a 
freer manner than he had anticipated, led the Kan- 
san into a large drawing room^ — which he would have 
described with the one word “golden.” 

“The gentleman you came to see has not come in 
yet,” she informed him, “but we expect him any mo- 
ment. Do you mind waiting?” 

“Not at all,” he replied, with a faint smile, gal- 
lantly adding, “under the circumstances.” 

She blushed a trifle but outwardly ignored his 
compliment, and referred to a civic topic that was 
of interest to most Ladnerites. He discovered that 
she possessed a versatile mind, but judged it to be 
an idle one. They were becoming quite friendly 


In Journalism 


209 


when the parson arrived. He stood in the doorway 
a moment, his eyes fixed on Peter's. Presently the 
Kansan was also staring at him. 

'‘Didn't we meet in Petit City?" asked the 
preacher, advancing toward the reporter. 

“I remember now," returned Peter, extending his 
hand. “It was at Craynes'. You are Mr. Rollins. 
I'm glad to meet you again." 

Miss Jacobs gazed at both of them bewilderedly. 

“Millicent," said Rollins, turning to her, “Mr. Bos- 
ten is an old friend of Noel Crayne's." 

Expressing agreeable surprise, Millicent yielded to 
the formal introduction, and remarked that any 
friend of “Brother Crayne's" was welcome in their 
home. 

Peter remembered now where he had heard the 
name “Jacobs." Noel had mentioned it in connec- 
tion with the fatal business meeting, where the be- 
ginning of everything had happened. These were 
the people who had been the cause of his resignation. 

The Kansan also recalled his first impression of 
Rollins. This representative of Noel's church had 
stood out among Mrs. Crayne's remarkable little 
party as the only half-sincere man present. That 
he should have gravitated to the society of the 
Jacobses, and to a pleasant pasture like the Ladner 


210 


Peter Bosten 


“branch/' was not surprising. Doubtless he had 
worked to that very end for a long time. 

So ran Peter's thoughts as he exchanged common- 
places v/ith the preacher whom the “shame of jour- 
nalism" compelled him to eulogize. 

Millicent asked them to excuse her, saying that she 
knew her mother would like to meet a friend of the 
former pastor's ; and while she was gone Peter felt 
uncomfortable. He was not at home in the company 
of this clerical. 

Mrs. Jacobs soon came in, however, radiating wel- 
come as profusely as she did perfume; and the re- 
porter was made to feel how mighty is the press. 
After displaying his wit a little and observing with 
secret pride that he impressed Mrs. Jacobs, he was 
rewarded with an invitation to remain for dinner, 
which he could not decently refuse, “under the cir- 
cumstances" — ^the circumstances again having to do 
with the pretty daughter. No newspaperman of any 
standing whatever can, in justice to his profession, 
ignore the feminine in matters of business. They 
are responsible for much news and many sensations, 
upon which the best of journals depend for their cir- 
culation. Pleasing the Jacobses, in this case, was 
pleasing the Evening Globe: the fount of Peter's 
material blessings just now. 

Moreover, if further excuse for his remaining to 


In Journalism 


211 


dinner be needed, he wanted to study these members 
of NoeFs church, who were different from the others 
with whom he had associated. 

'‘Have you known Mr. Crayne very long, if I may 
ask?’’ said Mrs. Jacobs, as if casually. And before 
answering, the skeptical Kansan transformed the 
question, thus: "Do you know Mr. Crayne well 
enough, I wonder, to be his confidant? Has he told 
you about the business meeting?” 

"WeVe been friends for something over two 
years,” he replied. "But, unfortunately, I haven’t 
seen much of him since he became a missionary for 
your church. It was just my luck that he chanced 
to be leaving Ladner as I arrived. We had scarcely 
any time together at all.” 

This answer obviously relieved Mrs. Jacobs’s 
mind. The cautious look left her eye and she 
launched into a eulogium upon the character of Noel. 
Peter knew it to be rank hypocrisy, and wished she 
would stop before he was goaded into saying some- 
thing sarcastic. Millicent, however, came to the res- 
cue. She was more honest than either her mother or 
Rollins, Peter thought, as he glanced from one to the 
other. At dinner he decided that Millicent was the 
choice of the family. 

Arthur, the son, was typical of a class Peter de- 
spised. Polite, tactful, superficially charitable, in or- 


212 


Peter Bosten 


dinately complimentary, and deplorably insincere. 
And if Arthur was the chip, his father was the block. 
Peter’s estimate of this family practically coincided 
with Noel’s. 

It was apparent that all of them, with the possible 
exception of Millicent, sought to impress him. Even 
the daughter was carried away, at intervals, with 
the impression that she was dealing with a fright- 
ened member of the church. She was several times 
on the verge of a grand platitude, when a man-of-the- 
world twinkle in the reporter’s eye halted her. 

Peter realized, with considerable conceit but not 
many thrills, that she liked him and was half afraid 
of him. He even conceived (with egotistic candor 
of thought) of the possibility of an infatuation on 
her side ; sincerely hoping, however, that no such con- 
tingency would ever arise. 

The dinner was the best Peter had ever eaten. He 
told Mrs. Jacobs so, in his unmannerly, frank way, 
when it was finished ; establishing himself, thereby, 
more firmly in her regard. She beamed on him dur- 
ing coffee. 

The Kansan had a new experience at this sump- 
tuous meal. Although duly impressed with the 
grandness of the occasion, he had an absurd inclina- 
tion to indulge in impolite lau^ter. Something 
amused him so much he could scarcely contain him- 


In Journalism 


213 


self. He tried to ascertain what the disturbing fac- 
tor was, finally deciding that it was the entire 
absence of Sincerity. He thought in capitals, again, 
and noted the title for a new essay. 

Probably the good food and stimulating coffee 
might have something to do with it, he mused: me- 
chanically answering questions affecting life in Petit 
City and New York, the while. Or the fact that they 
were feeding him for the news column he was to 
write, might be to blame. 

Again, the absence of religious conversation, at 
this the table of a popular member of NoeFs church, 
might be responsible for his inward hilarity; the 
outcome, he felt, of mere brutish enjoyment. 

Was this how they lived all the time — apart from 
the idea and fact of material sacrifice? Was this 
the way all rich families lived : circling round a full 
table and a heap of ephemeral topics? The agnostic 
could not help wondering. 

The usual philosophizings occupied his inner mind, 
as he conversed about nothing. 

In the evolution of mankind, how small, how mean 
was this stomach-feeding present ! The scene before 
him: well-dressed men and charming women (one 
of them at least) ; a full board surrounded by little 
minds : how futile, how foolish it seemed ! 


214 


Peter Bosten 


Tiring at length of their tongue-talk, Peter threw 
out a challenge to the minister. 

“Do you think, Mr. Rollins,’' he asked, “that this 
civic reform which is going on now in every city, 
has the proper elements within it to make for per- 
manent improvement?” 

Mr. Rollins was a long moment comprehending the 
question, but finally succeeded in returning a com- 
promising answer, which, in fact, said nothing. Then 
Mr. Jacobs, who was plainly thirsting for an oppor- 
tunity to ventilate his views observed : 

“It all lacks one thing, Mr. Bosten,” he said — “the 
Spirit of God.” 

Peter could scarcely have been more startled, in- 
tellectually. Had he heard aright? Had this well- 
dressed barbarian (“barbarian” is the word he had 
in mind) descended to metaphysics, to the spiritual, 
in one casual swoop? Why, he spoke as though the 
thought involved were very familiar to him. 

However, the agnostic recovered from his surprise 
as the speaker proceeded to elucidate. 

“He is familiar with spiritual terminology,” mused 
Peter, eyeing his reflection in a platter ; “it is a les- 
son he has learned, superficially, as I believe he has 
learned the lesson of life. The real significance of 
it may not be apparent to him. In fact, to whom is 
it apparent?” 


In Journalism 


215 


“To Noel Crayne/' answered a voice from nowhere. 

Peter glanced quickly at Rollins. But it was ob- 
vious that the minister had not made the remark. 
He was joking, in an undertone, with Arthur Jacobs. 
Whence had the voice come? Strange! — it seemed 
so real. 

“An illusion,’’ he thought; pursuing, however, re- 
flection of the message brought. 

Noel Crayne, then, comprehended the meaning of 
this phrase the “Spirit of God.” The influence, of 
whatever nature it might be, that made for adequate, 
lasting reform, was called the “Spirit of God” : and 
Noel Crayne understood it. 

Peter could not rid his mind of the reflection. 
Even while he wrote the news column about Theo- 
dore Rollins and the great work that the gentleman 
had come to Ladner to accomplish, this other thought 
was revolving in his brain. It troubled him as he 
closed his eyes in sleep, even projecting itself into 
his dreams. 

One consideration reconciled the Kansan to the 
flattering spirit of his article on Rollins : the fact that 
individuals whom Noel Crayne loved and had labored 
among, would benefit by the advertisement. The 
church of which Noel was so conscientious a mem- 
ber needed the publicity. That was enough for 
Peter. 


216 


Peter Bosten 


When the article appeared appreciations began 
coming in to the editor, and so he took the trouble 
to read what his employee had written. 

“Bosten,” he said, “you put your heart into that 
thing. How did you do it? Is this sky-pilot all you 
claim for him — and the rest of them?” 

“Fm thinking,” grinned the reporter, “that it was 
‘the rest of them’ I had in mind when I wrote, rather 
than Mr. Rollins. However, I’m glad it had an 
effect.” 

“Good business,” returned the chief, and repeated, 
“good business.” 

Peter was also called up on the telephone and in- 
vited to the place again. They were having a party. 

Chiefly because he was lonely, he accepted; and 
his associations with this family, superflclal and dis- 
appointing though they were, strengthened. The 
family had their good points, when all was said. 

Finally they induced him to take a vacation with 
them down to the shore. He was not enthusiastic 
until Millicent told him a religious reunion was being 
held, at which some of the leading lights of their 
church would be present, and where there would be 
outdoor sports. 

Millie thought it was mention of the sports that 
first enlisted his interest ; but the truth was, Peter’s 
intellect and heart were longing for the companion- 


In Journalism 


217 


ship, distant though it might be, of such minds as 
the Sterns’ and Noel Crayne’s again. That they 
would be found at the reunion he had no doubt. He 
was at a loss to quite understand this longing, but 
that was a familiar feeling with Peter. 

It was arranged that he should share Arthur 
Jacobs’s tent, paying his own way, however; and 
spend a week at the shore. His ‘‘chief” told him to 
keep his eye open for sensations and bring back a 
healthier complexion. 


218 


Peter Bosten 


CHAPTER XIII 
AN EASTERN REUNION 

Regrets were Peter’s portion, as a result of his 
acquiescence in the Jacobs holiday plan, until he 
came to the spot chosen by the reunion for its en- 
campment. Then, as he gazed over the area of tents, 
half hidden in the grove beyond the clearing, upon 
the sparkling waters and a white beach that glistened 
through the trees, he forgot the patronizing airs of 
his host, and was glad he had come. 

Arthur’s tent had already been pitched by the but- 
ler, who had considered it an outrage that a man of 
his standing should be forced to leave the city on an 
errand of this nature. The Kansan murmured, as 
he stepped through the slit in the canvas, that money 
was a pretty handy thing after all. Perhaps the first 
object that engaged his attention was a guitar in one 
corner of the tent. 

“Hello,” he said, “do you play that?” - 

“No,” returned Arthur; “but Millie does a little. 
The mandolin is my instrument — ^there it is under 
the writing table.” 

“When Miss Jacobs isn’t around, then, we’ll have 
a bachelor’s duet. I strum the guitar myself, after 
a fashion.” 


An Eastern Reunion 


219 


As there was a lull in the camp and nothing in 
particular to do for the moment, Arthur suggested 
that they throw back the flaps and tune up, to which 
suggestion Peter readily agreed, being curious to 
know something of his fellow camper's attainments. 

For the first time, the unimpressionable Kansan 
was agreeably surprised in Arthur. The latter 
played well, not always on one string alone, and could 
even sing an acceptable tenor. Peter swung in with 
him easily, performing some bass runs, and finding 
the harmony as readily as he had done back at col- 
lege. 

“By Jove," said Arthur, when they had finished the 
first attempt, “when Millie hears that you’ll never get 
her to touch the thing again !’’ 

Peter grinned, apologetically, explaining that he 
had merely picked it up unscientifically. 

“All the same, Bosten, you’re right there.’’ 

Soon the melody penetrated to drowsy ears, and 
tent-flaps began to open within a radius of fifty 
yards. By and by the boys and girls began coming 
around, most of whom greeted Arthur with genial 
familiarity, declaring that they knew in their sleep 
he had come to camp. 

The Kansan began to make the acquaintance of 
athletic young men and “stunning’’ maidens. (As a 
newspaperman he must be allowed occasional col- 


220 


Peter Bosten 


loquialisms of this nature) . In the course of an hour 
or two, as the joyous company which now filled Ar- 
thur's tent and extended also in a semicircle before 
it, joined in whatever song was started, old-time or 
'‘popular," Peter had decided they were very much 
like the Missouri boys and girls of this same church. 
He felt his heart warm toward them, and was con- 
scious of a species of joy which he had not known 
since coming East. 

As evening came on, however, and the cicadas 
filled the air with their singing, the Kansan was car- 
ried back to other groups of merry-makers, where 
sat one dearer to him than the rest; a creature of 
olive complexion, undeceivable eyes and peculiar 
grace. Although he mechanically followed the har- 
mony, his soul no longer responded ; it was suffering 
again the old pangs and battling with an emotion 
that seemed likely to live always. 

When the company dispersed for supper, Millie 
came to him with glowing eyes and told him how 
clever he was. 

“Is there anything you can't do?" she asked. 

He pretended to think a moment, seriously, and a 
foolish answer came to the tip of his tongue. Had he 
considered it a second longer he would have re- 
strained it. 


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221 


'‘Yes/' he replied, impulsively, “I can't fall in 
love." 

The folly of the reply and the blushes it had 
brought, like fire, to the cheeks of Miss Jacobs em- 
barrassed the speaker and he, too, blushed. He tried 
to laugh it off, but it was one of those flippant re- 
marks that do not dissolve in laughter. Each knew 
the other's mirth to be forced. 

From that indiscreet moment Millicent became 
noticeably coy in his presence. And, for various rea- 
sons : because he rather liked Millie ; because he was 
good natured ; and because young persons were pair- 
ing off all over the camp : Peter began to “go around" 
with her. There was something in the air that made 
it easy to do so. 

Saturday evening they attended preaching service 
together in the big tent ; and while the opening hymn 
was being sung, with the soul and sincerity that 
these people put into all their worship, Peter felt 
an awakening of the old thrills. 

Did the laws of psychology account for this? he 
asked himself. If so, why had he not felt it in the 
churches on Fifth Avenue, where he had gone occa- 
sionally on a Sunday night, during his lonely life in 
Manhattan? Were there not psychological forces at 
work in an aristocratic congregation as well? Doubt- 
less. But they did not thrill him. Therefore, they 


222 


Peter Bosten 


could not have been of the same quality as these 
forces surrounding the activities of Noel's church. 

Thus, by a different route, did the Kansan arrive 
at an idea which Noel Crayne had labored to con- 
ceive. 

He was pondering over this idea, quite oblivious to 
Millie's presence, when the voice of the preacher 
roused him. 

A short, broad-shouldered man of unclerical ap- 
pearance was speaking. He had the face of a sea 
captain and the mien of a farmer; but his intellect, 
Peter soon discovered, was a thing refined. The 
sentences came somewhat brokenly, but not one of 
them lacked a point. The speaker built his argu- 
ment with the care and certainty of a master builder ; 
hewing away the false from the true with clear vis- 
ion ; laying fact upon fact with admirable precision. 

‘'Here's a logician — like President Stern," mur- 
mured the Kansan. 

Nevertheless, this man with the brain of a sci- 
entist took the step that carried him beyond Peter's 
sight, as the President had done that conference Sab- 
bath in Petit City, and as other exponents of Noel's 
faith had done. 

Peter sighed. “Why," he asked of the universe, 
“is my mind at variance with the minds of these men 


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223 


whom I admire? Why do not I cherish the faith 
they cherish?'' 

Next morning he had occasion to still further in- 
terrogate the unknown. He attended the nine o'clock 
prayer meeting, which was considered the ‘'spiritual 
feast" of the day, and saw and heard there that 
which was most bewildering. 

One old gentleman, gentle but calm of speech, had 
recited the story of his religious career briefly, and 
was counseling younger men to follow “the straight 
and narrow way," when his hand was raised, as if 
by a will other than his own, and he uttered words 
that made the congregation weep. Peter, himself, 
felt considerable emotion ; but he fancied it was the 
psychologic effect of all this mind-harmony and ad- 
mirable sincerity of heart. 

Nevertheless, during the intermission that pre- 
ceded preaching service, he found himself still im- 
pressed, and disinclined to engage in casual conver- 
sation. He strolled down a quiet path into the grove 
and reflected on what he had heard and seen. 

Did these people have the truth after all? Was 
Jesus Christ the Son of God, the God of these be- 
lievers, and was his gospel really the “plan of sal- 
vation"? If so, then it was impossible to reject such 
strange phenomena as the morning prayer meeting 
had presented. They were no more incomprehen- 


224 


Peter Bosten 


sible than simple faith in God’s existence and Christ’s 
divinity ! 

The eleven o’clock sermon chanced to be in har- 
mony with the Kansan’s reflections. It was deliv- 
ered by the youngest member of the Twelve Apostles ; 
a fair, mild-mannered man upon whose countenance 
Thought had placed her benediction, and in whose 
voice there were no wavering notes. He announced 
that he would speak about ''first principles” ; which 
he did; dwelling upon the necessity for faith, then 
repentance from sin and baptism by immersion. The 
carnal mind having been thus subdued by the "will 
of God,” this earthly temple was in a condition to 
receive the "gift of the Holy Spirit.” After that 
came "good works,” upon which one depended most 
of all for "inheritance in the Kingdom of God” here- 
after and the privilege of coming forth at "the first 
resurrection.” 

There was none of the old familiar, irrational doc- 
trine, so consoling to duty-shirkers, of grace-salva- 
tion, heavenly "special privilege” and the divine 
"rights of the few.” It was a democratic, meritor- 
ious doctrine this young man preached, free from 
apologies for "influence” and wrongdoing ; and when 
the sermon was finished, Peter enthusiastically mur- 
mured : 


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225 


“By Jove, if the Bible be true these people are the 
nearest right of any !” 

At noon he looked around the dining tent for signs 
of Western celebrities, hoping the well-remembered 
face of President Stem would stand out from the 
others. But Millie, who was sitting across from him 
beside Arthur, informed him, in answer to a query, 
that Mr. Stern was on the Pacific coast at present. 

Three o’clock marked the beginning of another 
sermon, which the Kansan was waiting to hear ; for 
he had just been introduced to the speaker: a short, 
jolly gray-haired man whose age it was impossible to 
determine. He was one of the drollest individuals 
Peter had ever met. Usually the Kansan was hard to 
please, in the matter of wit; but he found himself 
smiling in advance when this gentleman’s lips showed 
signs of moving. 

However this inclination was soon forgotten when 
Mr. Freely began his sermon. It seemed to one of 
his listeners, at least, that he had taken his cue from 
the morning speaker’s remarks. At any rate he re- 
ferred to the same text, but based his argument on 
the clause, “Let us go on unto perfection ” • (Hebrews 
6:1), rather than that which enumerated the “prin- 
ciples of the doctrine of Christ.” 

Mr. Freely was eloquent. He had a style that in- 
dicated a taste for literature, if not capabilities in 


226 


Peter Bosten 


that direction. But it was not the form that ap- 
pealed most to Peter : it was the substance. 

The speaker spoke of the necessity for good works 
upon the part of believers. '‘Faith without works is 
dead/' he quoted. He went into the psychology of 
the thing, showing how easily deceived a satisfied 
mind becomes. He referred to history in instanc- 
ing the bigotry religious complacency generates. 

“No heart and no mind," he remarked, in the 
course of his sermon, “is beyond the pernicious in- 
fluence of illusory faith. I submit to you, ladies and 
gentlemen, brothers and sisters, that true faith in- 
volves intelligent conception and consistent conduct." 

The Kansan wanted to make some such exclama- 
tion as “Whew !" at this point. 

“Fve got to have a chat with that man," he re- 
solved. 

And before the speaker’s remarks were concluded 
Peter had strengthened in this resolution. 

He carried it out, too, late in the afternoon ; being 
directed to Mr. Freely’s tent by Mrs. Jacobs, who 
considered him “a good talker but inclined to be ex- 
treme in his views." 

“Often," she remarked, reclining on a mountain 
of cushions in Arthur’s tent, “I think our mission- 
aries would do more good if they paid greater atten- 


An Eastern Reunion 


227 


tion to the outsiders and less to people inside the 
church/' 

Which, by the way, was about as honest a state- 
ment as the Kansan had ever heard her make. 

Mr. Freely was caught in the act of reading a vol- 
ume Peter quickly recognized as the product of a 
skeptic-socialist's brain. 

^‘Why, Mr. Freely," he said, smilingly, ^‘I'm sur- 
prised at you." 

The preacher enjoyed his situation, apparently. 

‘'Don't tell on me," he returned. “Excommunica- 
tion or the rack might follow — one never knows. 
We still live in a barbarous age." 

“I agree with you." The Kansan felt at home al- 
ready. Here was a mind which, he believed, would 
follow his, and which he could follow with the inter- 
est that comes only with mental striving. “But," he 
added, “as excommunication could only happen to 
you inside the church, why do you refer to barbar- 
ism!" 

It was said by his admirers that Freely never had 
to think for an answer. He did not hesitate, now, 
at any rate. 

“We have them in the church, Mr. Bosten, I'm 
afraid." 

“The intellectual kind, you mean?" 

“All kinds. ‘The Kingdom of God is like a net cast 


228 


Peter Bosten 


into the sea.’ We find sharks, crabs and lobsters in 
it.” 

Peter laughed at the simile. 

‘‘But seriously, Mr. Freely,” he rejoined, “you peo- 
ple claim to have the ‘fullness of the gospel.^ 
Shouldn’t you be better than those who cherish only 
part of it — as you believe the other denominations 
do?” 

“We should be, yes. If we lived up to our message 
we would be perfect. But that we do not live up to 
it is no reflection upon the message itself.” 

“Granted. But don’t you claim to be actuated by 
the Spirit of God to a fuller extent than those you 
call ‘sectarians’?” 

The preacher’s countenance became more sober. 

“I believe, Mr. Bosten,” he answered, “that a good, 
intelligent member of our faith is the highest type 
of Christian, or, in other words, of man. If I did not 
believe so I would ally myself with a denomination 
that appealed to me more. The gospel as we have 
been taught it, through Christ and by the inspira- 
tion of God’s Spirit in this age, represents the high- 
est conception of right to me. That I see a failure 
upon the part of myself and others to fully live up to 
its requirements does not decrease my faith in its 
beauty, its divinity. You must realize that principle 
can not be degraded by personalities, Mr. Bosten? 


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229 


If there is any degradation, it happens to the person- 
alities/' 

‘That's clear enough. But it seems to me, Mr. 
Freely, that if your church is in fact the Kingdom of 
God on earth, — assuming there is a God who con- 
cerns himself minutely with human affairs — its 
power and influence should be greater. It should be 
much freer from hypocrisy and ignorance than it is.' 

Peter intended his words should convey a chal- 
lenge. He wanted to rouse this intellectual member 
of Noel's church to aggressive action. But the face 
he saw before him became sad, instead of flaming; 
and the look he received was one of sympathy and — 
it seemed to the agnostic — doubt. He liked Mr. 
Freely more than ever. 

“I am not in the habit of apologizing for ineffi- 
ciency, in religion or anything else," returned the 
missionary; “and if I were I should not try it on an 
intellect like yours. I want to tell you something, 
Mr. Bosten: I believe you will understand. By the 
way, you are a Free Thinker, are you not?" 

“Yes. Did you just surmise it?" 

“I would soon have guessed it; but as a matter of 
fact Noel Crayne told me about you once. But what 
I was going to say to you was this : the same ques- 
tions you have asked me, I have asked myself a 
thousand times. There are moments when I seem 


230 


Peter Bosten 


to be aware of a strange inconsistency in the whole 
thing. Yet, these doubts pass away. My reason tells 
me that nowhere is there a people even as far ad- 
vanced, morally, as we. That, I believe, is a mere 
statement of fact. We have sinners ; but, my friend, 
we have saints too. There are many of God's sweet- 
est characters in this church." 

“I believe you, Mr. Freely. Their companionship 
exerts a happy influence on myself. There is some- 
thing about your prayer meetings, so simple and sin- 
cere, that draws me. Yet, I keep asking myself, 
would not these same people be what they are in spite 
of any fsiithT* 

The minister shook his head. 

'T am older than you," he answered kindly, ‘‘and 
experience tells me not. Here I have knowledge to 
support my faith." 

'‘But I thought true faith was not dependent upon 
knowledge?" 

For the first time the preacher hesitated, in 
thought. 

“Faith, of the kind I possess myself, is impossible 
to define," he said, presently. “It is intimately as- 
sociated with thought, reason, desire, each of which 
seems to strengthen it. But, Mr. Bosten, when it 
first came to me, it came in a flood ; sweeping me on- 
ward in a strange rush of joy and completeness. I 


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231 


did not stop to ask what it was. I yielded myself to 
its heavenly influence, and thanked God for its ad- 
vent.'' 

“So it was really a thing of the emotions, after all? 
And therefore, Mr. Freely, in what respect was it 
different from the other psychological influences that 
come we know not whence — sometimes at the drama, 
indeed — and surge through our being?" 

The preacher's face lighted up ; the sadness faded. 

“I am glad you asked that question. I was waiting 
for it. The true answer to it constitutes the best 
earthly argument in favor of faith. The difference 
between this influence and those others you have 
mentioned, Mr. Bosten, lies in the desires it leaves. 
Your theatergoer leaves his box impressed, perhaps, 
but unregenerated. A club sandwich and a glass of 
wine take the moral bad taste out of his mouth. He 
goes home thinking of the next day's business in- 
stead of the truths the playwright has sought to 
bring home to him. In all these psychologic forces 
that play upon our emotions there is manifest a ten- 
dency to pass. Some of them disappear as swiftly as 
they come, even leaving misery in their wake. But 
in this faith of which I have been speaking, the kind 
that came into my own heart at any rate, there was 
something vital and lasting ; something that sent my 


232 


Peter Bosten 


soul in quest of greater things than I had ever 
known.’' 

For a long time the Kansan was silent. Here, at 
last, was a thoughtful explanation of the phenome- 
non he had observed. 

He recalled the conversation about moral reform 
at the Jacobs table, and the transient impression Mr. 
Jacobs’s reference to “the Spirit of God” had left — 
transient because of a conviction that there was in- 
sufficient sincerity behind the words. But now the 
phrase assumed life again, in the light of Freely’s 
interpretation ; and Peter warned his brain that per- 
haps its analytical methods were indeed, as osten- 
sibly spiritual individuals had told him, carnal and 
“at enmity against God.” 

But he subjected even this thought to the “test of 
incredulity,” and looking up suddenly he asked the 
preacher how he had induced this faith of his, or 
whether he had encouraged it at all. 

“The Lord recognized my honesty of desire,” came 
the answer. “This desire drove me to search the 
Scriptures, in which I found the statement: Tf any 
of you lack wisdom let him ask of God that giveth to 
all men liberally’ ; and I took the Bible at its word. 
I prayed earnestly for light. Finally the light came.” 

Peter was aware of a sudden reaction within him. 


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233 


He recalled his efforts to pray, and the sentimental 
consequences. 

'‘What if you had no faith in prayer?” he asked. 
"No faith at all in anything having to do with the un- 
known?” 

Mr. Freely, at this, expressed a belief which cor- 
responded with an utterance of Noel's, to the effect 
that if a heart is honest it will be "led” to have faith 
in Gk)d. 

"But this is an assumption, in the final analysis,” 
said Peter; "is it not?” 

"From the standpoint of human reason it is,” 
agreed the preacher. 

He did not continue with "buts” and "howevers” ; 
but ended at the verb "to be.” 

"So, as usual,” returned the Kansan, as though 
speaking to himself, "we come to the dividing line.” 

After a pause Mr. Freely replied, pensively: "Yes, 
I suppose that's about it.” 

A moment later he was called to supper by his 
wife, from outside the tent, and having an engage- 
ment with Millie Jacobs, Peter betook himself off. 

He had neither appetite for feminine company 
nor appetizing food, however. He was conscious of 
restless thoughts and vague longings ; and could not 
forget the half-light of sympathy in Freely's eyes. 
It troubled — aggravated him. 


234 


Peter Bosten 


Being in the same state of mind after supper he 
went off by himself, down toward the shore. The 
singing of cicadas in the grove, the sighing of the 
trees, and the phosphorescent glow of the waters, 
combined to perpetuate his yearnings. Here, in the 
semi darkness, the voices of Nature stirred his heart. 
They seemed to be calling to him, as the lights upon 
the waves beckoned him, on and on he knew not 
whither. 

“0 Christian's God and the God of Noel Crayne,” 
he soliloquized, gazing along the shoreline against 
which the restless waters splashed, ''if there be such 
a being as you, and if in this puzzling world it is re- 
quired of us mortals to believe in you, why can not / 
have faith?" 

No answer came to him out of the darkening sky, 
no murmur across the waves. He called in vain to 
the Unknown. 

"Ah," he murmured; "illusion! All is illusion!" 

But just then the sound of voices, growing nearer, 
echoing in the grove behind, drifted upward from 
the beach. Some of the camp girls were coming to- 
ward him, arm in arm for protection against the 
darkness : an element they feared but which, never- 
theless, fascinated them. 

Peter wished they would turn up the shell-path 
and leave him to his reverie ; but heedless of his wish 


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235 


they moved nearer and nearer to the spot where he 
sat silent and unobserved. It occurred to him to 
flee; but reflecting that the action might frighten 
them into a panic, he sat still, in the hope that they 
would overlook him. 

However, they were not thus considerate. With 
the perversity of innocence they came directly to- 
ward him; until finally he had to make his mys- 
terious presence known by a cough. 

‘'Don’t be afraid,” he called, seeing that his cough 
had been about as startling in its effects as any- 
thing imaginable ; “it’s only one of the boys from the 
camp.” 

“It’s Mr. Bosten,” he heard one of the number 
whisper ; after which assurance they all approached. 

One member of the company, he noticed, hung 
back a little; and upon her he peered most intently 
through the darkness. 

“Helen!” he cried, softly but tensely. “Is that 
you?” 

The others, so far as he was concernea, had dis- 
solved into the night. 


236 


teter Bosten 


CHAPTER XIV 
A GULF BETWEEN 

Helen walked back to camp with the Kansan, al- 
lowing the rest of the company to go ahead. 

The two of them endeavored to speak in casual 
tones; but it was apparent to each that the other 
labored under difficulties. They talked of super- 
ficialities, for the time being, since their mutual pres- 
ence sufficed. 

''You see,” she explained, "I just arrived by motor 
with some friends late this afternoon; and as my 
head ached this evening the girls compelled me to 
take the air.” 

"You have probably been studying too much,” re- 
turned Peter, pensively; and a silence threatening 
to fall, added : "I heard you were at Princeton.” 

"It is possible I did overwork a little,” she an- 
swered. 

"What are you going to make of yourself, Helen?” 
There was no sarcasm in the tone. 

"That would be hard to say, Peter.” 

Her answer did not satisfy him, of course. He 
wanted her to say that she could never make any- 
thing of herself without his aid ; yet he knew a girl 
could not make a statement of this character. 


A Gulf Between 


287 


As they came into the camp area the sound of 
string music became audible, and Peter suddenly 
realized that Helen Dyke’s arrival had put him in 
an awkward predicament. In a few days’ time Millie 
Jacobs had come to take his attentions, mild though 
they were, for granted; and considerable trouble 
would undoubtedly be precipitated if he deserted her 
for another. Millie’s pride would undergo a severe 
test, as news of this sort rapidly spreads in a camp 
of young folks; and he would probably be obliged 
to move out of Arthur’s tent. 

However, the Kansan reflected, all this was incon- 
siderable where Helen was involved. If uncomfort- 
able predicaments could win her, how gladly would 
he seek them! 

The group of singers had gathered around 
Arthur’s tent, as was their custom after evening 
service, and as Peter approached, with the fair Mis- 
sourian, he was hailed by several of them. Millie 
then caught sight of him ; but instead of calling to 
him, put down her guitar and almost unobserved, 
stole out through the rear of her brother’s tent, after 
whispering to him something that evidently excused 
her in his eyes. Immediately Arthur called to the 
newspaperman to take up the guitar, which Peter 
was compelled to do, sorely against his will, by the 
entreating company. 


238 


Peter Bosten 


However, when he got into the spirit of the thing 
he was rather glad of the occasion to remind Helen 
of old times. Often he had strummed in the center 
of a Petit City group, as now ; taking his inspiration 
from dark eyes, the like of which he knew no other 
individual in the world possessed. 

She took her place in the company, beside the girl 
friends she had deserted on the beach, and soon the 
Kansan distinguished her voice in the singing. He 
thought, too, that he could feel her gaze in the dark- 
ness ; but that may have been only his romantic im- 
agination. 

They were obliged to part for the night in the 
presence of others, which made an exchange of in- 
timacies impossible. Consequently Peter could not 
accurately determine the state of Helen’s feelings. 
But he allowed no doubts to assail him as he winged 
his way into a happy dreamland. Nor had these 
mortal tormentors place within him the following 
morning. 

He rose early and strolled down toward the shore, 
reveling in the glory of a Jersey sunrise. The sounds 
and scents of Nature thrilled his being with a happi- 
ness that is only possible to a lover — and a youthful 
one. The suntrack over the waters eastward was a 
golden pathway leading to Happiness, and he was 
about to set out upon it with sure feet. There was 


A Gulf Between 


239 


room for but two thereon, to begin with; but as it 
neared the horizon the path widened, making way 
for many feet. 

So like the pathway of a full life, thought the Kan- 
san. Two true lovers began it, confining their in- 
terest to each other, oblivious of the world; but as 
they advanced their affections included children, 
faithful friends, blessed memories. 

The sight of a boathouse down along the shoreline 
gave Peter an idea. He would invite Helen to take 
a canoe trip with him. They might carry lunch 
along, and spend a whole day on the water. 

This plan, indeed, he was able to carry out. For- 
tune favors everyone -at some time or another. Peter 
doubted the possibility of such happiness until he 
felt the canoe move under him, saw the retreating 
shore, — and a familiar figure in the stem. It had 
seemed too good to be true : but it ivus true. 

He did not philosophize upon it, however, just 
now. His mind was too full of Helen to admit of 
abstract thoughts. It was one of those times when 
there is no sorrow, no gloom upon earth ; only happi- 
ness and peace. 

So it was with them for hours. He recounted his 
experiences in the East, casually; making no men- 
tion, however, of the bitterness he had carried away 
with him from Petit City. Neither did she mention 


240 


Peter Bosten 


this thing; but spoke rather of the knowledge she 
had gained among the professors of learning, and 
also of the chaff she had rejected. 

The inference contained in the word “chaff,” that 
a “child of God” had the power to distinguish “the 
tares from the wheat,” was not lost upon Peter, 
whose state of feeling began, at once, to undergo a 
subtle change. He was aware of an element of an- 
tagonism against Helen's views. Until this moment 
he had thought, under the spell of love, that the old 
wound was healed. But even a few hours had shown 
him that it still burned. 

Peter endeavored to analyze the phenomenon of 
so sudden a reaction from happiness; and, with the 
candor to which he had accustomed himself, reflected 
that he had been presupposing a change in Helen's 
religious attitude; ignoring the probability of her 
strict adherence to the ideals, or ideas, that had been 
the cause of their separation. 

Now he must face it. Complete happiness could 
only be possible in perfect understanding. It were 
vain to go on deceiving himself like this, through the 
sunny hours ; for evening darkness would come and 
he must be prepared to meet it. 

He felt there was something cruel in dispelling, 
with a question, the sweet delusion under which she 
was, evidently, willing to let the thoughtless hours 


A Gulf Between 


241 


pass. But it were better to have an understanding 
out here on the water, where neither of them could 
walk away in wounded spirit from the other, than to 
broach the matter in camp. 

Thus resolved, the Kansan began his diagnosis, in 
fear and trembling ; a blush mantling Helen's 
countenance when she realized what he was about. 

Nevertheless, she did not beg him to postpone the 
ordeal. 

“Peter," she replied to his question in a subdued 
tone, “Fm glad you spoke of this. I have been feel- 
ing since last night that we were not quite honest 
with each other. Now the gulf is bridged." 

“But is it?" he returned, eagerly. 

Her mysterious eyes were holding his. 

“I mean," she explained, “that we have surren- 
dered our self-deception, and are going to be frank 
with each other. The gulf you are thinking of, 
Peter, can only be closed up in one way." 

There was a note of resolution in her voice that 
told him what he wanted yet dreaded to know. But 
it was not triumphant. On the contrary, it sounded 
almost despairing. 

After a heavy silence he regarded her with an 
appealing look. 

“Helen, dear," he said, assuming as steady a tone 


242 


Peter Bosten 


as possible, ‘Vhy do you persist in doubting my 
honor like this?’’ 

‘‘Forgive me, Peter,” she answered, “if it seems 
so to you. But I can not see it in that light. It is a 
question of faith and duty.” 

He marshaled the forces of his mind in an en- 
deavor to discover a common ground whereon they 
might meet. 

“Helen,” he asked, “has it ever occurred to you 
that I might pretend to accept your faith, just for 
the sake of you? That, after all, is an old trick of 
lovers.” 

She smiled unhappily. 

“You are not that kind of a man, Peter.” 

“What makes you think so?” he rejoined quickly. 

“I know it,” she said, emphatically, “just as I 
know that there is something vital which keeps you 
from believing in God.” 

“Then for God’s sake,” he cried, with a sudden 
burst of passion, “tell me what this vital thing is !” 

The blood had filled his cheeks and his eyes were 
not the eyes of the ordinary, philosophic Peter. 

Helen, too, had colored deeply. Evidently his an- 
ger hurt her. 

“That is for you to find out,” she returned, after 
a tense pause; “and the only way to do it is by 
prayer.” 


A Gulf Between 


243 


“Prayer/^ he repeated, not angrily now but with 
subdued scorn. All memory of soul-tranquility ex- 
perienced in the midst of these peculiar people, of 
mental inspiration and the wavering of mortal rea- 
son, vanished under the spell of heart anguish. He 
could not bear the thought of endless blank months 
to come. A vision of his desk at the Globe office rose 
before him ; around it clustered the shadows of city 
acquaintances, superficial, insincere, and the atmos- 
phere of earth-dust that had always sickened him. 
This was the existence to which Helen's stubbomess 
consigned him. He resented it; it was not fair. 

''You ask me to sacrifice my intellect," he told her. 
"You demand that I make a fool and hypocrite of 
myself. There is no act I could perform that would 
involve more deceit than getting down on my knees, 
Helen, and praying to a God in whom I can not be- 
lieve — of whom I can not conceive. Your own 
preacher. Freely, told me only yesterday that the 
kind of faith he possessed was associated with knowl- 
edge and intelligent conception. But I lack this 
faculty, if a faculty it is, or this habit, of divine con- 
ception. And I can not believe in prayer. Why," he 
went on, somewhat excitedly, "should an all-wise 
eternal Father require his earthly children to beg for 
the things they need? Even an earthly father antici- 
pates the wants of his children. If God, the God in 


244 


Peter Bosten 


whom you believe, knows what is for our good why 
should he withhold it from us? To induce us to flat- 
ter him on our knees? To wheedle us into asking 
for the wrong thing, in our ignorance, and thus make 
a mockery of prayer? No, Helen, it doesn’t appeal 
to my reason. I can not and will not accept it, be- 
cause acceptance would only be superficial with me 
and would brand me a liar and a hypocrite.” 

This outburst had the effect of bringing tears into 
Helen’s eyes, which softened the Kansan ; but when 
he realized that they were tears of pity, as well ai^ 
love, he lost patience again and admitted that his 
day’s pleasure was spoiled. 

The admission subtly reminded them that they 
were two mere lovers made of flesh and blood, sub- 
ject to the whims of Cupid; so they quarreled on 
technical grounds and returned to camp without 
having tasted their lunch. There the Kansan was 
met by Millicent Jacobs, whose rather chilling pres- 
ence suggested an idea to him. By taking her out in 
the canoe he and Helen had just left he could accom- 
plish three important things : give Helen wound for 
wound; forget their disagreement, to some extent; 
and atone to Millie Jacobs for his temporary deser- 
tion. Needless to say the first reason appealed to 
him most. He had a stronger desire than upon the 
occasion of their last quarrel, to hurt her. The Kan- 


A Gulf Between 


245 


san, filled as he was with hateful pangs, would prob- 
ably have gone even so far as to humiliate her. 
While loving her he hated her: such is the incon- 
sistency of human passion. 

After considerable coaxing he pursuaded Millie to 
accompany him. Peter knew he was doing an ig- 
noble thing and hated himself for it ; but the tide of 
his anguish bore him along with such force he had 
not the power to resist it. 

Through the balance of the afternoon he flattered 
and accepted flattery, playing upon the surface of 
artificial pleasure, speaking only superficial thoughts. 
But down beneath the surface there was heavy 
gloom and a silent chill, as there was in the depths 
of the waters upon which they drifted. In the back 
of his mind he meditated sadly upon the gulf that 
separated him from his love, growing more and more 
bitter against the Fate that had pitted itself against 
him. 

While Millie thought he was admiring the light 
floating clouds, he questioned this god of Noel 
Crayne and Helen Dyke ; challenging him, indeed, to 
come out in the open and make himself known. 

‘T will not fawn upon you,'' said Peter's soul, '‘and 
coax you to perform a duty that is yours to do — if 
you be as great and loving as earth supposes. But I 
demand of you what is just, what is right and rea- 


246 


Peter Bosten 


sonable. Believers would call this sacrilege, blas- 
phemy, and threaten me with fire from heaven for 
such recklessness: but I am not afraid: my intelli- 
gence forbids such fear. If you really exist, god of 
these peculiar people, why do you not make yourself 
known to me ? Am I not as honest at heart as Helen 
Dyke? Am I not more honest than men like Thomas 
and Arthur Jacobs?'' 

Peter waited for an answer, but it did not come; 
and gradually he felt his heart harden against what 
he termed “illusions." Always he had held them in 
mental contempt, but now he hated them with a per- 
sonal heart-hatred. 

“They have come between me and my happiness 
like a mountain of granite," he murmured — convers- 
ing on the tip of his tongue with Millie Jacobs the 
while. “They have made an egotist of the girl I love. 
I innocently hoped college life would have made a 
change in her views; but instead of disillusioning 
her, knowledge has strengthened her irrationalism. 
This is not surprising, I suppose. I have not reck- 
oned with the full power of this ‘faith' of theirs, 
that's all. It has encompassed the reason of deeper 
thinkers than Helen. There is Freely, for instance. 
He has a brain, that man; and yet he can not con- 
vince my intellect that his faith is logical. That 
argument of his about the ‘desire to do good' does 


A Gulf Between 


247 


not hold, after all. Have not I a desire to do the 
right? Yet I have no faith in their god, nor have I 
entered ‘the fold' as they call it. My desire is just 
as strong as theirs, too, in spite of their assumptions. 

“Why, they are egotists, all of them ; the greatest 
egotists in the world. Their form of religion may 
be higher, according to Christian standards, than any 
other ; but since religion is all a delusion, the higher 
the form the stronger the delusion. That's it!" 

The thought was convincing to the Kansan's mind, 
and he knew that its advent marked the disappear- 
ance of his sympathy for Noel's church. 

“Their doctrines have defeated my love," he mused. 
“Why should I deceive myself into thinking them, to 
any extent, desirable? My sentiment for these sin- 
cere but deluded Christians has been leading Reason 
astray. Let me get back to the Logical — I'm done 
with this emotional business!" 

Consistent with his new viewpoint, which was, 
perhaps, the old one renewed, Peter made an excuse 
to go back to Ladner the following day. This time 
he bade Helen Dyke farewell, but his eyes communi- 
cated no message to hers. 

Began a period in the Kansan's life that was hard 
to endure. He had no longer even a desire to be 
diverted. Invitations from the Jacobses were sys- 
tematically refused. After work he sat in his room, 


248 


Peter Bosten 


brooding, or walked along quiet streets in quest of 
forgetfulness. 

The routine of his daily occupation was more wel- 
come than it had ever been, for the reason that he 
had no immediate ambition. Even the desire to 
write, for the sake of writing, had forsaken him. He 
'‘doped out,’" in “shop’' parlance, paragraphs and 
essays on various local or general subjects; but his 
typewriter carried him along mechanically, and he 
paid more attention to style than substance. 

“You’re getting down to something substantial 
now,” observed the editor and proprietor one day. 
“Soon you’ll be able to dress up Nothing to look like 
something. That’s the real mission of a newspaper- 
man.” 

Cynicism of this nature added a little spice to the 
Kansan’s life, and the use of carefully selected pro- 
fanity began to appeal to him. Swearing was, in 
the last analysis, an art. One must guard against 
excess, however; otherwise the desired result could 
not be attained. Just as the overstatement of an 
argument dulled its fine points, so did the too en- 
thusiastic utterance of permissible curses render 
them less effective. 

Peter made a discovery, some weeks after the re- 
union, that tended to strengthen his conviction that 


A Gidf Between 


249 


religion, at its best, was but self-deception. He was 
covering a suicide case in the slums of Ladner when 
he learned that the victim had taken his life because 
of poverty. This was no novelty in modem city life, 
and the newspaperman would probably have passed 
it by as a commonplace event, had not a friend of 
the deceased indiscreetly mentioned an incident lead- 
ing up to the suicide : namely, a brutal effort to col- 
lect rent : which involved none other than Thomas T. 
Jacobs. 

Millie’s father, it developed, was the owner of a 
series of tenements, and recognized to be as severe 
a taskmaster among the poor as any rich man in 
town. 

So this was the kind of men who championed the 
cause of an imaginary god; who consigned “unbe- 
lievers” to a “lesser glory” in the next world than 
themselves ; who paid into the church treasury money 
extorted from the poor, and soothed their conscience 
in prayer and “worship”? 

“Ay,” he concluded, “and their belief is respon- 
sible, to a great extent, for their hypocrisy. With- 
out it they would be driven to their reason and their 
conscience, elements of their being that illusory faith 
destroys. Without the salve of prayer they might 
feel a humanitarian smart occasionally. 

“If their church is not responsible for their actions. 


250 


Peter Bosten 


why does it tolerate them? Why does it take their 
tainted money? 

'‘If I had been Arthur Jacobs, — self-deceived, dis- 
honest, insincere, — Helen Dyke would have believed 
in me because of my professed faith; but being too 
honest for self-deception, I am discarded. Well, so 
be it. I am satisfied.” 

As the months passed, Peter began to take an in- 
terest in literature again. He put old associations 
out of mind, even dropping his correspondence with 
Noel; and chose to live independently of what he 
called "sentiment.” 

"As Ibsen would say,” he mused, "I shall be com- 
plete within my own life : I shall be Myself.” 

The routine of the Globe office began to pall on 
him, however, now that the East ceased to divert 
him; and a longing for the plains, the atmosphere 
and sunshine of the Golden West, rose up in his heart. 

One late-autumn morning he approached the 
"chief” unceremoniously and held out his hand. 

"Good-by,” he said, "Pm off.” 

"You're off? What's the matter with you — are 
you crazy? Do you mean you're off your dot?” 

"Maybe that's it,” he replied, without a smile. 
"Anyway, I'm sick of this game. Pacing the pave- 
ment and writing silly articles about senseless sub- 
jects has ceased to appeal to me. The West is call- 


A Gulf Between 


251 


ing, and I must go back. Guess I'll free lance it.” 
The editor tried in vain to suppress profanity. 

'T hope you starve to death,” he declared, along 
with an unprintable list of nouns and adjectives. 

'‘Most likely I shall,” said the Kansan; "but Fd 
just as lief do that as dry rot. So long, chief.” 


252 


Peter Bosten 


CHAPTER XV 

THE FREE LANCE 

The events of five years of the Kansan’s life, a 
life peculiarly susceptible to psychologic changes, 
must now be crowded into small space. An existence 
of half a decade might not mean much to certain 
temperaments; but Peter’s was an extraordinarily 
restless one. His ambition was great, and his powers 
of physical endurance were considerably below the 
average. The editor at Ladner had often told him 
that he '‘carried too much current” and would "blow 
out a fuse some day” if he did not restrain his en- 
ergies. 

In this recitation of five years’ happenings, no 
adequate conception of the mental experiences can 
be given. These are more truly "the experiences of 
life” than physical goings and comings. Just as the 
mind can travel a billion times faster than the body, 
so do mental occurrences mean infinitely more than 
physical. Nor are they to be described in terms of 
years, for they have no time limitations. 

There are minds that journey a greater distance 
in one week than others do in a year. A whole life- 
time of the usual psychological experiences may, for 
some intellects, be undergone in a very few years. . . . 


The Free Lance 


253 


After leaving Ladner the Kansan, with a hundred 
dollars in his pocket, set out for the West. He had 
no notion of stopping off at Petit City, nor of visiting 
his uncle on the Kansas farm. Old friends and 
scenes would tend to rouse memories and reflections 
that he had succeeded, to some extent, in quelling. 
Peter's one desire now was to do something worth 
while as a free-lance writer, and anything that 
threatened to interfere with this ambition must be 
resisted. 

At Chicago he took a Denver train that would pass 
through Petit City, Missouri, about midnight. Thus 
the temptation to disembark was minimized. 

There was a long daze of dreams and passing 
things: cities, towns, plains, waters and forests: 
after which he found himself east of Denver in a 
prolific grain section of Colorado. One of the little 
towns, a place named Nestleton, appealed to him 
because of its name and the fact that it was situated 
some distance from the railroad station, so he got 
off the train there, with his baggage, which included 
a typewriter, and looked around. A breeze from the 
mountains, shining to westward, filled his lungs ; and 
the hard-headed Peter had a foolish impulse to drop 
a tear or two on the station platform. It was a 
peculiar sensation, composed in equal parts of hap- 
piness and sadness. 


254 


Peter Bosten 


'Til get back my old vim in this sweet air/' he 
murmured, as he walked toward the village, his bag- 
gage having been sent on to the hotel. 

His plans were all laid. Next day he would find 
himself a room in some quiet home, and settle down 
to his writing. With the ninety dollars he would 
have left, after paying his hotel bill, he could live for 
several months, by economizing; and if his "stuff" 
did not sell, at first, there was always work to be 
found on the farms round about. 

He succeeded in engaging a room for two dollars 
a week, and his landlady, an ignorant, superstitious, 
good-hearted soul, told him he could get meals at the 
only restaurant in town, a Chinese lunch room, "right 
cheap." 

The first week his living expenses were as fol- 
lows: room rent, $2.00; meals $1.75; laundry 0.25; 
candy 0.15 ; total, $4.15. At this rate, Peter figured, 
he could exist for 21 weeks, without selling anything. 
But he must make an allowance for stamps of at 
least $1.00 per week; which, at the present rate, 
would limit his existence as a free lance to 17 weeks, 
two more of which would probably disappear in 
incidental expense — hair cuts, et cetera. 

Clearly, he must not eat so much. The candy, a 
craving for which he had always possessed and 
which seemed to satisfy him where others wanted to- 


The Free Lance 


255 


bacco, must go ; and he must never, on any occasion 
(except the selling of a manuscript) , eat more than 
twenty cents' worth per day. Also, he must not be 
so particular in the matter of laundry. 

He figured away until he had hit upon a basis of 
daily expenditure that would prolong his free-lanc- 
ing existence to at least eighteen weeks, calamities 
barred ; allowing for postage of fifteen cents a day. 

Now, Peter was not a novice in the writing busi- 
ness," and did not cherish false hopes. He had seen 
too many clever men starving in New York as 
‘‘hacks," to expect fame and fortune in a few months. 
If he could only manage to keep body and soul to- 
gether for a year, by writing stories and articles 
that appealed to himself, he would be satisfied. He 
knew he did not “turn out" the sort of “stuff" that 
appealed to the “ninety per cent" — that class of the 
public which demanded crude sensation — ^and that it 
would be much harder for him to make money as a 
free lance than it was for mere “pot boilers" who 
wrote “thrillers" “by the yard." Peter realized that 
had he retained his position in Ladner he could have 
sold perhaps more stories and articles “on the side," 
had he applied himself and consented to “manu- 
facture" the kind of sentiment most in demand, than 
he would do here in Nestleton, where all his time 
went into the work. But he also realized that in the 


256 


Peter Bosten 


East his style would never have developed any indi- 
viduality, nor would his mind ever have been able to 
rise to the heights it might reach here in the moun- 
tain air, with no routine and no sordid environment 
to weary it. 

Since first conceiving the desire to be a ''writer'’ ; 
that is, to be able to express the thoughts within his 
brain that clamored for expression; he had passed 
through various stages of disillusionment regarding 
the literary profession. At first he had thought 
newspapermen happy mortals, beings to be admired 
and imitated if possible. But association with them 
had convinced him that they wrote not their own 
thoughts as a rule, but the thoughts of their news- 
paper, their employer. The longer they remained 
with a journal, the less individualistic became their 
writings. The daily grind of cut-and-dried work 
devolving upon them killed not only their originality 
but their ambition, in the end. Most of them were 
cynical upon the subject of literature. "There ain’t 
no such animal,” a Park Row "cub” had remarked 
to him one day. "At least he doesn’t thrive in Amer- 
ica. The fellows who succeed in the game these days 
are those who measure their stuff by the column, at 
so much per ; not by the eye of intellectual scrutiny. 
Pick the best sellers to pieces and you find a mess of 


The Free Lance 


257 


sticky sentiment with a lolly-pop stuck in the mid- 
dle.” 

Away from the “money-seekers” and the incon- 
sistent cynics, who lacked the initiative to forsake 
what they claimed to despise, Peter hoped to find 
thoughts within himself, untwisted by exterior in- 
fiuences, that would be worthy of expression. Here 
in Nestleton, if anywhere in the world. Nature would 
lend her inspiration. The ever-brilliant sunshine, 
the singing mountain breeze, the peace and mystery 
of early morning and moonlit night — surely these 
were fitter companions to a reflective mind, than the 
artificial surroundings of a modern city. 

His first fortnight's work on the typewriter con- 
vinced the Kansan that he must have more speed. 
So he wrote to a business college in Denver for a 
copy of their “touch method” book of instruction; 
and when it arrived, set to work to learn the art of 
typewriting without looking at the keys. There 
were twenty lessons in the book, upon which the stu- 
dent was supposed to spend twenty days at least; 
and success could only be attained by strictest ad- 
herence to the rule forbidding the typist to even 
glance at the keyboard. While learning the position 
of the keys, one must keep one's eyes on a chart. 
This rule, of course, made it impossible for Peter to 
typewrite any of his writings for a period of twenty 


258 


Peter Bosten 


days; but, even so, he did not allow his six hours' 
daily practice of the touch method to interfere with 
his literary labors. It was his custom to arise at 
six o'clock every morning’, Sunday included, take a 
brisk half-hour's walk, eat his five-cent breakfast, 
and be back to work by seven. 

Ordinarily he worked from seven o'clock until 
twelve, and from one until five. Between five and 
six he exercised in the open; devoted half an hour 
to supper; and read or studied from six-thirty until 
ten, sometimes taking half an hour off to write a 
poem, or the beginning of one. 

But now that touch-typewriting was to be learned, 
he must put in more time, and temporarily give up 
his evening study. So he rose at five o'clock in the 
mornings, stealing an hour from sleep, and divided 
his time so that really only two hours out of the 
regular day were sacrificed to the machine. 

At the end of twenty days he had not only mas- 
tered the touch method but accumulated a heap of 
articles and stories written with pencil in scribblers. 
He had brought a pile of bond paper from Ladner, 
but it was fast disappearing ; and he dreaded the day 
when he should have to invest in more. 

The typing of the accumulated writings increased 
his speed on the machine. By the time they were 
finished he had completely overcome his desire to 


The Free Lance 


259 


look for either letter or figure on the keyboard, and 
could do much faster work than he had ever done by 
^^sight.” 

His experience with the touch-typewriting book 
of instruction made Peter feel that he possessed 
latent powers capable of strong and varied develop- 
ment. How many of us, he thought, could accom- 
plish really great things if we only tried hard 
enough? 

Instead of slaking his thirst to succeed as a 
writer, each day's toil seemed to increase it. Every 
finished story and article inspired him to write some- 
thing stronger. At first he feared this appetite for 
labor was artificial and would wear off ; but as the 
weeks passed he came to the conclusion that health- 
ful life and exercise and the absence of uncongenial 
surroundings, were responsible for his new energy, 
and that it would last. 

When a given writing was finished he invariably 
felt a thrill of pleasure. 

‘'You may come back, old man," he would say, ad- 
dressing his “creations" as though they were ani- 
mate, “but I will send you out again and again ; be- 
cause you represent a certain limited phase of my 
mental and physical existence, and you are therefore, 
in some degree, worth while. Yet were not “as- 
signed" to me by a city editor; your spirit was not 


2«0 


Peter Bosten 


dictated by a business or political system. You are 
my own honest views, in plain language, and I con- 
gratulate you, old chap, on your existence. Nothing 
but fire can destroy you. When I am dead you may 
lie unpublished; but you will exist. For you have 
been created, and in this universe there is nothing 
ultimately destructible. Even though you are burned 
up, you will still exist, in spirit form ; for a mind has 
shaped you and released you in the cosmos, whence 
you can not escape.'’ 

Peter formed the habit of speaking to himself: 
talking to his soul, he called it. On his long walks 
he would start an argument between two given 
mental faculties and, standing aside, as though he 
were a number of personalities, watch the result. 

His work, at this period, seemed to fill his life 
entirely. Noel, Helen and others transiently occu- 
pied his mind, of course; but they were invariably 
forced out, to make room for an Idea of some sort, 
which the writer deemed worthy of elaboration. 

His sentimental nature was fed with imaginary 
adventures. Were he conscious of a longing for the 
companionship of woman, as poor mortal man is 
prone to be at times, he created a dream-creature to 
divert him. His youthful yearning for real romance 
was appeased in the creation of the unreal. Such is 
the nature of a genuine, dyed-in-the-wool 'Vriter." 


The Free Lance 


261 


As more than one novelist has said, his real existence 
lies in his brain-creations ; the material world outside 
is to him a thing illusory. This sounds like fiction and 
pretty speeches, but it is a commonplace truth. 
Doubtless it is not conceivable to some minds — ^and 
possibly they are the better off! 

The Kansan suffered the pangs of all whole- 
hearted free lances, during his winter in Nestleton. 
Back came the manuscripts as methodically as they 
went out. 

It seemed incredible to him, in spite of his East- 
ern experience in journalism, that not one of a hun- 
dred stories and articles should be accepted. He had 
prepared himself for just this contingency; but there 
is no genuine preparedness for disaster where hope 
lingers. Expectation and realization are two dif- 
ferent things. 

Peter knew that these writings were by far the 
best he had ever done. Many an editorial of his had 
the Ladner Evening Globe printed, which was ama- 
teurish compared with these endeavors. 

“But they said what the editor wanted said,” he 
reflected, in disgust. “I was only paid as a carpen- 
ter is paid : for fitting the material together. Bah ! 
these magazines don't want originality. Least of 
all do they want truth. Only one thing appeals to 
them : Sensation. Let a story be crude, unoriginal. 


262 


Peter Bosten 


demoralizing — anything : so long as it is sensational. 
These editors might just as well sit beside a vat of 
morphia, with a syringe in their fingers, and give 
each subscriber an injection as he comes along. 
Thrills are what he wants; unintellectual, fleshly 
thrills ; and that would give them to him.’’ 

Having crowded two or three years’ ordinary 
brain-work into three months, and accomplished 
nothing tangible (except the innumerable packages 
of manuscript), Peter suffered a reaction against 
what he called ^'modern journalistic conventions.” 
The policy of the magazines disgusted him. They 
were a weight on the back of intellectual progress. 
They needed a scourging, and — why did they not 
get it? 

''Because,” he mused, "a lot of starvelings like my- 
self depend on them for daily bread. But I don't. 
I’ll show them I don’t !” 

So in place of the old inspiration, now lying dead 
beneath a heap of long, fat envelopes, there came to 
the Kansan a new one. He would write only mate- 
rial that tended toward reform. This, after all, was 
a thinker’s mission; the only work worthy of one 
who desired to be among the supermen. 

As this conviction settled upon him he was con- 
scious of a subtle gratification that his sentimental, 
casual efforts had failed. 


The Free Lance 


263 


“I might have been trapped into devoting my en- 
ergies to this stuff, he soliloquized, walking in the 
face of a setting sun. ‘'The gold might have tempted 
me, as it has the rest. Why, when I come to think 
of it, there is nothing really vital in what I have 
written so far. It contains philosophy, true enough, 
but it lacks direction. There is so much to accom- 
plish in this muddled world that it's idle to spend 
our time merely saying smart — even thoughtful — 
things. I must put life into my work. I must attack 
what is ignoble ; show myself unafraid of the powers 
that be; smash their miserable idols, and do things 
worth while. I have seen enough insincerity and 
hypocrisy in the world to make a rebel of almost 
anyone. I shall write about that of which I am in- 
formed, and not mince matters. First of all I shall 
aim a few articles and stories at the sensation-loving 
public. Maybe their sheer boldness will strike those 
poor victims, the editors. By Jove, — I believe that's 
an inspiration !" 

With all his heart then, undiscouraged and unad- 
vised by the pile of old manuscripts under his writ- 
ing table, the Kansan set to work as a literary re- 
former. He could scarcely get his thoughts down 
fast enough, in spite of his growing speed on the 
machine. Some of them came so flaming hot from 
his brain, and contained sentiments so fearlessly 


264 


Peter Bosten 


‘'radical/' it is a wonder, perhaps, that they did not 
bum up the paper upon which they took form. 

For days and days the writer ground out this 
class of stuff. So enthusiastic was he in its creation 
that he grudged the time spent in sleep. However, 
knowing the ways of his stomach and nervous sys- 
tem, he did not attempt to do with less than eight 
hours' rest each night. 

Although his store of wealth was dwindling alarm- 
ingly, he bought five dollars worth of stamps in one 
reckless week and deluged the mails with packages 
containing castigations of the slush-seeking public 
and their dupes the publishers. 

But ere long, these, like the harmless stories and 
articles previously submitted, began coming back. 
How Peter longed for sight of but one short thin 
envelope! Was it possible that he had been writing 
like mad for over four months and had not yet re- 
ceived a check? 

At last, when his disgust knew no bounds and he 
was contemplating an excursion among the farms 
surrounding Nestleton, the thin letter came. It con- 
tained the following message from an editor, whose 
signature was not stereotyped on a rejection slip, 
but actually written in ink at the bottom of the letter. 

''Dear Sir:'* he read, striving to control the twitch- 
ing nerves of his fingers: “Your article entitled 


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265 


'Wheels that move backward' has considerable merit, 
but we can not accept it unless you grant us the 
privilege of revision. I appreciate your desire to 
aid in making journalism a better vehicle for truth; 
but must say that, with all respect to your views, I 
can not see where mere words have any appreciable 
significance in actual reform. What the people are 
and what they want is determined by conditions too 
potent to be influenced materially by speech. The 
habits of society have been formed in the intricate 
and laborious processes of life ; and we can not hope 
to change them with a breath. 

"However, as there is a certain sparkle to your 
article, I shall be glad to have it for our May issue, 
provided our rate of one cent a word for such mate- 
rial is satisfactory to you, and we are granted the 
privilege of revising it somewhat." 

By looking up his notebook of "manuscripts dis- 
patched,” Peter ascertained that the article in ques- 
tion was about eighteen hundred words in length, 
and would therefore bring him eighteen dollars. As- 
suming that he would be paid upon acceptance he 
sent the editor a telegram (to save time) granting 
him the rights desired, and in less than a week re- 
ceived another letter stating that the article had been 
reduced to fourteen hundred words and would be 
paid for upon publication. 


266 


Peter Bosten 


It was now the end of March, and the last of 
Peter’s money had disappeared. He had, moreover, 
persuaded his landlady to wait a week on the room 
rent ; and was out of both stamps and writing paper. 
His situation looked anything but promising, in fact. 

''I guess there’s something the matter with my 
brain,” he said to himself, a day of two after receiv- 
ing the reply to his impetuous telegram, as he sat on 
the edge of his cot nursing an aching head. ‘I’m 
such a hopeless dreamer I’ll never be able to navi- 
gate in this world of money grubbing, stomach feed- 
ing and soul crushing.” 

He walked several miles out into the country, 
pondering over his predicament, wondering what he 
had better do. Would he be able to stand the physical 
strain of plowing? 

While musing that it was about time good fortune 
favored him a little, he was overtaken by a farmer 
whom he impulsively asked for a job. 

To make a long story short, he got it. However, a 
week’s labor almost laid him up. Certainly it “laid 
up” his inclination for that sort of toil; and was, 
perhaps, the strongest factor in sending him city- 
ward once more. 

Denver it was at first; later, Butte, Portland, 
Seattle, and Vancouver. 

There came a long period when the Kansan had 


The Free Lance 


267 


no inclination to write. Always he picked up some 
hobby as a substitute ; once it was a comet, another 
time a mania for the study of anatomy; and so on. 
Of course, he had periodical reactions toward the 
Muse. At one time he wrote a whole volume of 
verse about a girl he had seen in a field, only for an 
instant; and on two other occasions he built long 
stories around an old man and a tired-looking 
mother, respectively. But he did not pursue the free- 
lance “game’' systematically. When he chanced to 
sell a story or article he spent the money in travel or 
gave most of it away to creatures less fortunate than 
himself. 

He worked for six different newspapers, off and 
on (mostly “off”), during four years; in which time 
he executed a lot of “side” writings, some of which 
he never submitted — others were lost in the mails. 
He enjoyed the sensation of seeing one of his own 
plots appear in a certain Eastern magazine, some 
months after the manuscript had been rejected. 
There was no mistaking its identity. 

“The poor hacks,” he laughed ; “they’ve even got to 
steal for a living. Well, Tm better off than they are, 
at that. Good luck to you, boys ! May the Muse re- 
ward you However, I hold you no ill feeling. We 

are all dupes together. Egotists of the first water. We 
think our little thoughts and demand their publica- 


268 


Peter Bosten 


tion, as though they were worth while. Why, noth- 
ing is really worth while in this world. Everything 
is earthly, sordid. I'll be glad when it's all over." 

This soliloquy, delivered to the darkening waters 
as he stood on the docks in Portland, characterized 
Peter's state of mind during an indefinite period. 

He still thought and wrote along the lines of re- 
form, voicing opinions that were called ‘"Socialistic" 
and “ultra-radical" ; but he seemed to do so without 
much heart. The words of the sophisticated Eastern 
editor who had accepted his first article of a revo- 
lutionary nature, kept recurring to his mind : “What 
the people are and what they want is determined by 
conditions too potent to be influenced materially by 
speech." The world was in a rut. It needed some- 
thing more than human reformers could confer upon 
it. 

The Kansan became increasingly cynical in his 
habits of thought. The articles he condescended at 
times to write, savored more and more of what was 
called “radicalism." He despised social conventions, 
human pretenses, and did not attempt to disguise 
the fact. He hated religion, now, where formerly 
he had merely held it in contempt. 

The theater was his chief pastime. The play- 
wrights, it seemed to him, had greater breadth of 


The Free Lance 


269 


vision than the majority of self-appointed leaders of 
thought. 

It was the last week of his sojourn in Seattle, while 
attending the theater, that he had an experience 
worthy of mention. 

He had been attracted there by an announcement 
that ‘The Prince of Pilsen’' had been revived, with 
the original company ; and attended in hope of seeing 
Adele Cressy. Not that he had any particular de- 
sire to renew his acquaintance with her, or anyone 
else, for that matter; but he found it diverting to 
yield to his curiosity. 

Not being in the “orchestra’^ he did not have a 
program and consequently was unable to anticipate 
the players. However, as they came on the stage 
Peter recognized most of them as members of the 
cast that had entertained him in Ladner, four years 
previously. Nor was Miss Cressy missing. 

“Well, well,'' he muttered, leaning over the gal- 
lery railing, “so it's the same old Adele ! She doesn't 
seem to have changed a bit." 

However, an interview with her later in the night, 
changed his opinion. She had learned to drink, 
among other things ; and had lost much of her former 
sincerity of look and speech. 

The change in her saddened the Kansan, in spite 
of his cynicism. He tried to make himself believe 


270 


Peter Bosten 


that this natural phenomenon of life meant nothing 
to him ; but he scarcely succeeded. 

As they sat together at a little table in one of the 
fashionable cabarets, he yielded to the whisperings 
of something within him, and drew her into intimate 
conversation. She refused, at first, to go below the 
surface of old memories ; but gradually he made his 
way into her heart, and discovered, to his great sur- 
prise, that she had really loved Noel Crayne after 
all; sacrificing many of her ideals only upon being 
convinced that she must sacrifice him. 

Peter saw tears of sorrow and regret flow from 
stenciled eyes, beneath the gaudy glow of a cafe 
lamp, and heard amid the din of frivolity the peni- 
tent voice of a woman whose life had been as a 
sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal, — contrary 
too, to the truest wishes of her innermost being. 

'‘0 fools,'’ he murmured, gazing about him pen- 
sively, '‘do you really care for this glare and jangle, 
or are you deceiving yourselves, as this girl here is 
deceiving' herself, as all of us are deceiving our- 
selves?" 

She raised her glass, the diamonds still shining in 
her eyes. 

“To our old loves," she said, “however they have 
gone." 


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271 


But Peter seemed incapable of raising the liquid 
to his lips. 

‘"Adele,” he returned, “I beg leave to amend your 
toast a little. Let's drink to the loves of others, since 
we've had none ourselves." 

Forcing a smile, she drank to this. 


272 


Peter Bosten 


CHAPTER XVI 
ILLUSIONS OF LIFE 

It was in Vancouver that the Kansan first ad- 
mitted to himself that his health was noticeably 
failing. Frequent headaches convinced him that the 
trouble lay in his nerves, so, instead of consulting a 
druggist or other administrator of drugs, he inter- 
viewed an osteopath. 

The latter told him he was a neurasthenic and had 
become so as a result of continued mental strain. 
“You are organically intact,"’ was the diagnosis, 
“but your nerve cells have been impoverished 
through excessive thinking and possibly fretting.” 

“I’ve nothing to worry over. Doctor,” protested 
Peter ; “so it can’t be that.” 

“It must be something of the nature,” persisted 
the osteopath. “You’ve just told me you were a 
writer, haven’t you ? Besides, I can see by your face 
that you are a student. You have too much head 
for the bodily vitality you possess. I have met your 
kind before. 

“You will have to take a rest, Mr. Bosten. That’s 
the only cure. I can help you to some extent; but 
what’s the use of my renewing your vitality if you 
keep draining it off like this?” 


Illicsions of Life 


273 


Peter took some treatments and promised to be 
more considerate of himself; but he had to earn 
enough money to live on, and the only kind of work 
he could do was that which seemed to have very lit- 
tle market value, and must therefore be performed 
in large quantities — ^brain work. At the time of his 
interview he was engaged on one of the local papers, 
working out a series of articles to prove Canada had 
not made a mistake by defeating reciprocity in 1911. 
The editor was exacting as well as penurious, and 
every dollar to the hack represented drops of sweat, 
if not nerve fluid. 

The treatments undoubtedly helped him, but their 
effect was neutralized by his daily toil. It seemed 
to Peter that he burned up thrice the vitality in a 
given task that the majority of his fellows did. He 
could not enter into anything half-heartedly. His 
life, he was beginning to believe, would not be a long 
one; but at any rate it should never be said of him 
that he had wasted time. He might have chosen 
easier means of livelihood than journalism, he knew; 
but the monotony of a brainless, time-killing occu- 
pation; the routine of a mean system for securing 
money alone, would have worn him out as surely as 
did excessive labor in the more or less congenial 
vocation of journalism, or 'literature'’ as he liked 
to call it in his ambitious moments. 


274 


Peter Bosten 


He still had occasional dreams of becoming, at 
some time, a successful free lance ; particularly after 
indulging in a good cup of coffee or a rare glass of 
other stimulant; but such dreams were growing 
less and less frequent. 

His desire for the ordinary pleasures of life was 
blunted these times. He believed it would sharpen 
again, after a while, under some natural reaction; 
but even though it did not he could be tolerably con- 
tent. Not content, either, he mused : it was not his 
nature to be content : but — well, he could live on and 
take a certain interest in this existence. 

He was still in Vancouver when the World War 
broke in Europe; and it must be admitted that the 
intellectual part of him experienced something re- 
sembling pleasure in the event. He saw the men and 
women around him in a new light. A new interest 
in life was unexpectedly afforded him. 

Soldiers began to parade the streets, and there 
were demonstrations against the ''enemy’s sympa- 
thizers.” Flags appeared in peaceful places, wild re- 
ports were circulated, most of the people and all of 
the newspapers went mad. 

Soon the Kansan lost his artificial pleasure in the 
phenomenon, however. Newspaper reports became 
convincing; statements were made by men high in 
authority that the carnage would go on for at least 


Illusions of Life 


276 


three years. The hatred deepened, the madness 
grew. Blood ran in rivers, and men over all the 
earth began to tremble. 

In a few weeks Peter left off reading about the 
thing. His soul was sick with it. His editor wanted 
him to write pro-British articles and short stories 
about the conflict; but he complained of his head- 
aches and asked for lighter work and less pay. The 
truth was, he had no heart to champion either side 
of the slaughter. He could not help thinking of the 
Prussian mothers and children; even of the men 
themselves, the dupes of a diabolical doctrine. 

A fortunate circumstance, at this time, afforded 
him a much-needed opportunity for a rest. He sold 
a story to an American magazine for one hundred 
dollars and was paid on acceptance. Under other 
conditions he might have simply quit work and taken 
his leisure. But the war was upon his mind and he 
had to express his convictions regarding it. So he 
resigned his newspaper position, engaged a room at 
two dollars and fifty cents per week, and, instead of 
resting, set to work on a war novel. 

He wrote sixty-five thousand words in fifteen days, 
laid the manuscript aside for a week, during which 
he nursed an aching head and slept most of the time ; 
then spent another ten days revamping and retyping 
the story. He made three copies of it, an original 


276 


Peter Bosten 


and two carbons ; and these he began peddling among 
the various periodicals, daily, weekly and monthly, 
in town. 

The universal verdict was to the effect that 
‘'Americans coming here with pro-German views like 
this ought to be kicked out of the country.’’ Peter 
knew he had dealt fairly with the subject; if there 
had been any bias at all, it had been in favor of the 
Allies. He had merely constructed an argument 
against war in general, and the injustice arising 
from the warring spirit in particular ; but these red- 
blooded champions of the people’s and the country’s 
cause fired up, every man of them, at his story ; and 
wanted to have him thrown into the Pacific Ocean. 

The conclusion Peter came to was that Canada, or 
any other nation going to war, fought because it 
wanted to fight. Neither an individual soldier nor a 
nation fiew at an imaginary adversary’s throat out 
of a love of “liberty and truth,” but from love of 
“glory” and self. It was the lust of blood, not the 
ideals of mind, that precipitated war. 

Technically, he argued, Canada and the Allies were 
justified in blocking Germany’s muderous game. 
But no Britisher or other supporter of the allied 
cause was justified in proclaiming war a beautiful 
thing, or in resenting philosophical denunciations of 


Illusions of Life 277 

the carnage, on the grounds of ‘"loyalty.” It was all 
rotten hypocrisy. 

If the combatants of either side wanted to slay 
their “enemies” let them do so. A few millions of 
lives made little ultimate difference in the affairs of 
the world anyway. But let them not deceive them- 
selves and try to deceive others into thinking their 
work laudable and glorious. 

Their pretensions were like the blatant notes of 
their band music to the Kansan. They jarred on his 
ear and his soul. Finally he packed his grip, throw- 
ing the war story manuscript in as carelessly as he 
did his shirts, and left for “home.” 

Once among Americans again, however, he suf- 
fered a reaction in favor of the Allies. Here, in 
various directions, was sentiment that excused the 
Kaiser in his conquest plan. Peter hated it and the 
hypocrisy that fostered it. 

“All fools!” he cried, almost in a passion. “Let 
them fly at each other’s throats and murder — mur- 
der I The lust is in their blood. They are mad for 
carnage and death. So God give it to them !” 

His headaches showed no signs of leaving, and he 
was aware of a growing disinclination for mental ef- 
fort. He still had some money, but it would not last 
long; and after it was gone — what? He had no 
energy at all left, it seemed. 


278 


Peter Bosten 


A Portland newspaper friend secured him passage 
to San Francisco, shortly after his return to the 
States ; otherwise he believed he would have contem- 
plated suicide. If one did not like one’s house, why 
not move out of it? This old question had been tor- 
menting him for nights prior to his securing the 
ticket to California. 

Once on board the ’Frisco boat, however, he felt 
better in body and spirit. Exasperated with the 
pains of his nervous system he had resorted to the 
use of asperin, a drug that was becoming alarmingly 
popular among tired men and women. Peter real- 
ized the danger this practice might involve him in ; 
but it did not worry him. He felt that even death 
would be preferable to the moods that had been sit- 
ting upon him of late. After all, why fear the dis- 
solution of this house of clay? There was another 
existence beyond, probably. And if not — would not 
eternal sleep be welcome? 

A tall, well-dressed gentleman, in clerical garb, ap- 
proached the dreamer as he reclined against the 
deck railing. 

“I beg your pardon — ^but aren’t you Mr. Bosten?” 

Peter frowned, for he too readily recognized the 
unwelcome one. It was Reverend Theodore Rollins. 
Peter consciously associated the word ‘‘Reverend” 
with him now, although he knew the preachers of 


Illusions of Life 279 

^‘Noers church’* did not allow it to be attached to 
them. 

A desultory conversation ensued, the Kansan tak- 
ing very little interest until he discovered that Rol- 
lins was now traveling and lecturing against the 
church in which he had been so long a pastor. 

Here was a new phase of the psychology of re- 
ligion. 

He asked the gentleman how the change had come 
about in him, and was informed, in a wordy perora- 
tion, of the way ''the Lord” had "led him to a fuller 
understanding of the gospel of Christ” and shown 
him "the man of sin” in the person of "Milton 
Stem!” 

At mention of a name that he respected, Peter 
fixed his skeptical eye on the "holy sensationalist” 
(as he afterwards named him) and began filling up 
with indignation. 

All unsuspecting, however, the worthy Rollins con- 
tinued his apology, flying, if not in the "face of Provi- 
dence,” at least in the face of trouble. 

Suddenly, unable to control himself longer, the 
Kansan loosed his tongue and told this "funny little 
champion of the Most High” (quoting a Socialist 
whom Peter admired), a few things he had never 
heard before. 

"You are not worthy to shine President Stern’s 


280 


Peter Bosten 


shoes/’ said Peter, surprised that, after five years of 
varied struggles in which his soul’s welfare had not 
troubled him much, he should be taking the side of 
any one religionist against another. “Your poor 
little brain is so small that if it described a circle 
about a really original, let alone a lofty, idea, the ex- 
pansion would drive you insane. Beat it away to 
your stateroom, or jump overboard or something. 
In any case don’t bother me with your infinitesimal 
existence !” 

The next moment Peter regretted his loss of tem- 
per, as one usually does after the harm has been 
done. 

“What’s the matter with me lately?” he demanded 
of himself. “I’m becoming so irritable I can’t be 
civil with anyone.” 

However, in thinking over Rollins’s words, he 
doubted if the rebuke had been strong enough. The 
idea of a man’s swinging on a pivot of hypocrisy 
like that! How could he reconcile his faith in Jesus 
Christ with such a mean conception of his fellows 
and such an exaggerated opinion of himself? 

What did these little pretended followers of the 
great Jewish Prophet know about him, anyway? 
How poorly their petty utterances compared with 
the sweeping strength of His ; how mean their labors 
were as compared with His labors I 


Illusions of Life 


281 


As he scanned the horizon, which seeme,d to rise 
and fall with the motion of the boat, Peter had a 
repetition of the vision that had confronted him one 
Sabbath in New York. The White Figure of Madi- 
son Square Gardens again rose before his spiritual 
sight and he saw the waifs gathered about him for 
protection. 

‘‘Oh,’’ he thought, ‘‘if only it were possible for me 
to lay my head upon the breast of the Perfect Man 
incarnate, and realize that there was something more 
than hypocrisy and delusion in the world, how sweet 
my rest would be ! 

“If I could only believe in this heaven of the Chris- 
tian's, this place of peace and refuge, with what a 
different aspect life, here and hereafter, would be 
endowed ! But no ; I can not do it. I can not forget 
the littleness of man. We are insects, crawling to- 
ward our doom; some of us pompously, others 
wearily and in pain like myself ; but all inevitably. 
The Black Gates will close on us one day. Let them 
close on me as soon as they may : I am sick and dis- 
gusted with the present aimless, meaningless exist- 
ence. Unconsciousness, oblivion would be infinitely 
preferable to this. Here I live without love, without 
hope, even without mortal ambition of late. I guess 
I am one of the unfit; I have not survived in the 
Great Evolution. If there be another state of being. 


282 


Peter Bosten 


I shall probably come forth as a sort of trades- 
man-in-spirit, doomed to an existence of trivial en- 
deavors, soulless, thoughtless, ambitionless. There I 
shall learn lessons fitting me for one more epoch; 
and so on ad infinitum. 

“Well, well,’’ he sighed, “so let it be. I may rebel 
against my fate, I suppose ; but it will do me no good. 
I must bow to the inevitable at last, even though I 
hesitate in doing so just now.” 

Pursuing these and similar reflections he sank 
into a state of mental gloom. The horizon of life 
seemed infinitely darker to him than the sea’s hori- 
zon, now fading from slate-gray to a heavy blue- 
black. Though the sun had long since gone down 
and there was nothing to be seen seaward, he con- 
tinued to gaze, as though yearning to penetrate the 
impenetrable. So like Peter! — him of the hungry 
mind of unbelief. 

Came before his mental vision the worldly charac- 
ters he had best known. Ignorant, grubbing farmers ; 
cunning, penurious merchants ; arrogant, egotis- 
tical men of “big business”; unscrupulous, schem- 
ing politicians; little-brained, self-deluded, self-ap- 
pointed “leaders” of public thought: all the host of 
two-legged ants, bom from the womb of Eternity 
but doomed to live but a day — who danced and 
capered throughout the span of their infinitesimal 


Illusions of Life 


283 


existence. Funny little animate specks, so insignifi- 
cant it took the mind of a man to comprehend them ! 

Peter knew as he sat there staring into Pacific 
night, that he had drunk his fill of the liquid. Life ; 
as it tasted to him now, at any rate. He had wit- 
nessed the disappearance of so many ideals, encoun- 
tered so many contradictions in his dreams, and faced 
the unknowable so long, his soul had lost appetite. 
What it took some placid souls three score years and 
ten to achieve: a distaste for human existence: he 
had achieved in less than thirty. 

When he reached San Francisco he found great 
preparations going on for the Panama-Pacific Expo- 
sition. Here there was little thought of war, evi- 
dently: the people were entertaining themselves in 
a different fashion. They were not shooting bombs 
at one another and destroying cities, it was true ; but 
they were lavishing wealth, labor, and time upon 
pleasure-idols, to create which the poor and unfor- 
tunate of America had been robbed. In Europe the 
ignorant, the oppressed were being marshaled to 
fight the battles of their lords and kings ; forced to 
leave their wives and children to take up the sword 
against unknown and unoffending ''enemies’' — who 
were doing the same thing for their lords and kings. 
But here in America, the land of the free and 
home of the brave, the under-dog was subjected to 


284 


Peter Bosten 


no such indignity. He was merely robbed of the 
means of earning a livelihood and permitted to re- 
main at home with his family and starve. He was 
merely obliged to calmly lay down his life in this un- 
heroic, inglorious manner, so that the many kings of 
America might flaunt their splendor in the eyes of the 
world. If he chose, he might join an army, indeed: 
the army of the unemployed : but, of course, in that 
case he must be prepared to face the militia of what- 
soever money-force elected to parade one. 

‘'Hypocrisy ; miserable, rancid hypocrisy !” shouted 
the Kansan, in his soul, as he made his way through 
the crowds, heedless of the glory of mammon ; bent 
upon securing as cheap a bed as possible for the 
night. 

He walked on and on, as if trying to escape from 
the noise and glamor. Now and then he turned to 
look back, but straightway went forward again, not 
yet satisfled with his distance from Bedlam's center. 

By and by he turned up a quiet street, hoping to 
find a reasonable lodging there. However, there 
were no “Rooms for Rent" signs anywhere visible; 
and he was about to retrace his steps when a small 
church across the way attracted his eye. It bore the 
name by which “Noel's church" was known. 

With the thought that possibly Noel himself might 


lllusion$ of Life 


285 


be pastor here, the Kansan crossed over and read 
the announcement board. 

But the pastor's name, as printed on the board, 
was unknown to Peter. 

Nevertheless, a special announcement written in 
chalk interested him : ‘'On Sunday evening," it said, 
“Milton Stem, President of the Church, will be the 
speaker." 

The Kansan's heart grew a shade lighter as he 
read. 

“Well," he soliloquized, “here's something at last 
that is worth a look-in." 

It was now Friday night; and he had enough 
money to last him a week. So he decided to rest dur- 
ing Saturday and Sunday, and procrastinate the 
sickening ordeal of job-hunting until Monday. His 
chief desire, now, was to sleep and forget. The 
physical reason was nervous debility; the mental — 
well, who shall say? 

He found a little room, as clean as it was cheap, 
not far from the church ; and without ceremony (un- 
less a bath may be so described) went to bed. 

Presently the pounding of his head grew less pain- 
ful, and he dozed off into dreamland. There he wan- 
dered by phosphorescent waves with Helen Dyke, 
and the cicadas sang their song in the darkness. She 
was weeping, it seemed, and begging him to do some- 


286 


Peter Bosten 


thing for which he could not obtain the consent of 
his mind. 

All the agony of love he had known in reality con- 
densed itself into that dream. The perspiration 
stood out on his forehead, and he awakened, after 
midnight, acutely conscious of pain. 

Then he took another asperin tablet, which soothed 
away his headache and heartache. He sank again 
into dreams ; but this time it was Adele Cressy with 
whom he talked, and they were drinking a toast, not 
to the loves of others, but their own. 


Illusions of Life 


287 


CHAPTER XVII 
A SERMON ON AMERICA 

On Sunday evening Peter went over to the little 
church early. He selected a seat near the back and 
watched the people as they came in. As opening 
time neared and he saw neither a crowded house nor 
the President, however, he began to fear disappoint- 
ment. 

But Peter had no sooner formed a resolution to 
stay and hear whoever might speak, than Mr. Stern's 
athletic figure was seen walking with businesslike 
stride up the aisle : and the individual seated directly 
ahead of the Kansan heard a sigh of relief near by. 

After the second hymn, Peter settled back in his 
seat, upon the heavy arm of which he rested his el- 
bow, and assumed a position best calculated to hu- 
mor a heavy head. 

The President cast an appraising glance upon his 
audience, as he rose and stood behind the pulpit. 
His face, it seemed to the Kansan, had grown per- 
haps a little less aggressive and more thoughtful. 
His tone, to-night at any rate, was undoubtedly more 
pensive than as Peter remembered it. 

‘T think it a fitting time, ladies and gentlemen, 
brothers and sisters," he began, “to speak about this 


288 


Peter Bosten 


country of ours, past and present. This year marks 
a step in our national development that puts us in 
the van of nations. We have built a city of fine-stone 
and metal for the pleasure of looking at it and the 
gratification of pointing to it. I would remind you, 
to-night, of the deeper significance of this tendency 
toward display, which is not a new one, upon the 
part of our own land and of all the earth.’' 

Already the Kansan was deeply interested. His 
mind had been working in this same direction, since 
his coming to 'Frisco. 

‘‘Let me carry you back," the speaker continued, 
“to the early history of America. Come with me to 
Mexico, Peru and elsewhere to the south of us, 
among the ruins of civilization upon civilization 
there. Modem archaeologists have made it clear to 
the world that long before Columbus came to America 
there were peoples upon this continent possessed of 
great culture. Not dark-skinned progenitors of the 
savage tribes Columbus found here ; but a white race 
who knew a civilization equal to that of the Old 
World at the same period." 

Here Mr. Stem quoted from Baldwin, Humboldt 
and a number of other archaeologists and historians, 
to prove his assertions. 

“So you see," he went on, “the Indians were but a 
degenerate remnant of the cultured races. They 


Illusions of Life 


289 


held barbaric sway over ruined cities; over sub- 
merged aqueducts and concrete highways, — one of 
which was at least fifteen hundred miles long, — more 
ignorant of their own origin than we are. Yet in the 
traditions of these savage tribes we find hints of the 
very origin I shall endeavor to establish — Asiatic.’’ 

The speaker quoted other authorities, linguists 
and scientists, until Peter marveled at his own igno- 
rance and that of other Americans, ostensibly '‘cul- 
tured,” regarding the ancient history of their own 
land. 

Finally Mr. Stern turned from "profane” to 
"sacred” historj^, cringing Bible prophecies and alle- 
gories to bear upon his argument. From the "be- 
liever’s” point of view he adduced unlimited scrip- 
tural proof of his contention that the Ancient Ameri- 
cans came from Asia, carried religious records with 
them, were directed by God just as their contem- 
poraries in the Old World were; kept a history of 
their own, engraven, in the ancient custom, upon 
metal plates; and, before their extinction by war, 
were visited by the Messiah after his resurrection, 
just as he visited the Judeans. 

The speaker wove a fabric in which there were no 
loose threads, for believers in God. He affirmed that 
the Almighty was just as capable of issuing instruc- 
tions to his disciples nowadays as in the past; that 


290 


Peter Bosten 


he had done so, in fact, revealing by what men 
termed ‘^miraculous” means the whereabouts of 
those Ancient American records engraven upon 
metal plates. 

By the “power of God” these plates had been trans- 
lated, and the story of human life therein revealed 
was a warning to the America of to-day. 

“My friends,” he said, “you may not believe that 
God is the same yesterday, to-day and for ever. 
You may think it incredible that he should warn 
moderns, as he did ancients, of their specific sins and 
aid them in specific difficulties. My remarks to-night 
may seem visionary, ultraromantic to you. If you 
do not believe in Christ Jesus and the Bible, I may 
even sound like a deluded dreamer. But let me 
briefly recount the story of the fall of those Ancient 
Americans, as recorded in the translation of the 
plates I have mentioned, and see if it does not accord 
with your observations of life, to-day. 

“The claim made is that three great civilizations 
were one time extant upon North and South 
America. Two of these were contemporaneous with 
Judean captivity and each other; the third had its 
origin at the time of Babel. 

“When the second and third groups arrived in the 
New Land they found the ruins of that civilization 
which was built upon the wanderers from Babel. 


Illusions of Life 


291 


‘'Now the record of all these groups is contained 
in a book which this church I represent believes to 
contain the word of God, as does the Bible. I hold 
the book here in my hand. It has been sorely abused, 
but not more sorely than the Scriptures which all of 
you, I presume, accept. Mankind, you know, is ever 
averse to truth.'' 

The Kansan unconsciously nodded his head. He 
was thinking of his experience in journalism. 

“And this record, my friends, tells how each of 
those ancient civilizations came to naught through 
hatred, lust and murder. They set up kings, idols 
of clay, which they worshiped instead of the God of 
heaven — even as the nations are doing to-day ! The 
petty causes of these kings they championed, flying 
at each other's throats as Europe has done within 
the past few months." 

“By Jove!" murmured the Kansan. 

“Generation after generation they did this, until 
their lands lay waste and their cities in ruins. The 
first civilization utterly perished, about the time of 
Israel's bondage ; their records falling into the hands 
of the second and third civilizations, and being trans- 
lated by the power of God. 

“But these succeeding peoples, far from learning 
the lesson of obedience to right and service of God, 
contained in the said records, began the old folly of 


292 


Peter Bosten 


worshiping puppet man; creating kings, images of 
clay, whose unworthy quarrels they might assume: 
for, as mortal man has always done, they lusted to 
slaughter and destroy, even as it is happening to- 
night in sorry Europe : and after centuries of blood- 
shed and wickedness, all that remained of them was a 
dark-skinned remnant, who survived by the mercy 
of God and for his great purposes. 

‘‘Now, my friends, I shall not go into a discussion 
of the modern revelation of these truths. Suffice it 
to say that, because of my faith in the unchange- 
ability of God, I find it possible to believe in the di- 
vinity of this book and the wondrous way in which 
the Almighty has given it to us in these last days. 
And if you will investigate the matter, with an open 
mind and a sincere desire to find the truth, you will 
be aided by his Spirit in doing so. You will, I be- 
lieve, come to see as I do. This may sound egotisti- 
cal; but if I did not believe this church to be the 
Kingdom of God on earth, I should not be preaching 
to you to-night. 

“In closing, let me point you to this Exposition, as 
an instance of man^s misconception of right and 
duty. Our country is burdened with suffering that 
needs alleviation, crime that needs eradication, igno- 
rance that needs instruction, customs that need 
reformation. Yet we spend millions of dollars, we 


A Sermon on America 


293 


condemn the poor to starvation and the suffering 
to their woe, in order that we may set up and wor- 
ship gods of gold and glass. I ask you, my friends, 
are we materially different from the civilizations 
upon which archaeology has thrown its light; which 
went down into oblivion through vanity and lust? 
Have we not a king. King Dollar, who dominates us, 
takes away our reason, our religion and our humani- 
tarianism? 

“They tell me, those who elect to apologize for this 
gaudy extravagance, that it is educational; that it 
marks the progress of the race and will stand as a 
landmark for ever in the evolution of the world. 

“But, my friends, let them not speak of 'progress’ 
and 'world evolution’ in the face of present facts. 
Have enlightenment and culture availed to restrain 
the surging armies? The answer lies before us. I 
refer you to last night’s papers. 

“No; we can not be deceived. Advancement in 
the arts and sciences is not what humanity needs, but 
regeneration of soul/* Mr. Stern laid emphasis on 
the phrase. “The light that has reached the brain of 
man must penetrate to his inner being, burn away 
the selfishness, purify his passions. 

“And I believe the gospel of Christ Jesus to be the 
only power capable of accomplishing this. Civiliza- 
tion may follow civilization, kingdoms rise and fall 


294 


Peter Bosten 


for ever, science of man encompass the very skies ; 
but until the Spirit of God enters our hearts and 
takes up its abode there, there can be no real prog- 
ress. 

‘‘This Exposition may be a landmark indeed. But 
what story shall it tell to the future? The old, old 
story of ‘man's inhumanity to man'? Ah, my 
friends, I am afraid so ! It is built upon the sandy 
foundation of mortal vanity ; and the record of it or 
the ruins of it can bear no nobler tale than underlies 
the foundation of it. 

“Nor can the lives of those who established it, and 
the lives of you and me, my friends, mean any more 
in the evolution of truth and the universe than the 
inmost desires of these hearts mean. Unless we have 
the love of God within us, a genuine yearning for the 
triumph of honesty and righteousness, our achieve- 
ments are a shame unto us, and will perish with 
these temples of clay." 

With these words the speaker abruptly closed ; and 
Peter Bosten clutched his palms as a nervous tremor 
passed through him. He had been keyed up to a 
high pitch, during the sermon, and, the spell broken, 
was now experiencing a reaction. 

Though the physical spell was broken, however, 
the spiritual was not. The Kansan sat staring be- 
fore him ; hearing still the President's voice ; marvel- 


A Sermon on America 


295 


ing at the terrific import of his utterances, their 
profound significance, their convincing force. 

Peter seemed unaware that the audience was leav- 
ing. His head rested wearily in his palm, his eyes 
remained fixed, and he was oblivious of everything — 
until a familiar voice roused him. 

“Hello Mr. Boston! I scarcely expected to meet 
you away out here.” 

Mr. Stem was smiling and extending a large hand. 

“You do well to remember me,” returned the Kan- 
san surprised. “We only met once, Mr. Stem.” 

“That's true. But maybe we are kindred spirits 
or something of the sort. I had no difficulty in rec- 
ognizing you from the pulpit anyway.” 

Peter wondered why the President had taken the 
trouble to approach a nonmember and a stranger 
like this, and why he seemed inclined to linger. 
There must be many others present who would be 
happy to monopolize him. 

“Mr. Stem,” he asked, on the inspiration of an 
idea, “could you spare me a few minutes to-morrow? 
I want to have a talk with you.” 

“Why not to-night?” came the reply. “You might 
walk up to my room with me, if you care for the 
exercise.” 

“That will suit me splendidly. Pll wait for you 
in this seat.” 


296 


Peter Bosten 


A few minutes later they left the church together, 
turning in the direction of Peter’s lodging; and as 
one of the matters he wanted to see Stern about was 
the Canadian war story, he dropped into his room in 
passing and got one of the manuscripts. 

“After hearing such views as yours to-night,” ex- 
plained the Kansan, “I felt that I had to beg this 
favor of you.” 

“My goodness,” returned the athletic preacher, 
“it’s no favor on my part. You’re giving me a pleas- 
ure — doing me an honor. I happen to know some- 
thing about your literary labors.” 

This was news to Peter, as his look of astonish- 
ment indicated. 

“You seem to keep forgetting the intimacy be- 
tween Noel Crayne and myself,” Mr. Stem explained 
with a smile. “He has gathered up everything of 
yours he could lay hands on. I doubt if some of it 
is yours — ^there is such a prolific use of pen-names. 
But Noel believes it is, and that’s enough for him.” 

Peter felt a lump rising in his throat. In five 
years he had not written his old friend a line. Yet 
Noel had not forgotten. 

A silence, full of emotion for the Kansan, fell be- 
tween them ; which Peter eventually found words to 
break. 

“I wonder if you’d lend me a copy of this Ancient 


A Sermon on America 


297 


American record of which you spoke to-night, Mr. 
Stem ? I confess you have got me interested.” 

‘‘Surely.” The answer was not accompanied by 
any outburst of religious enthusiasm. Evidently 
the preacher knew his companion's temperament. 

By and by the Kansan asked a favor. He must 
snatch at straws under present circumstances. 

“You doubtless know some of the newspapers in 
town. I am wondering if your influence wouldn't 
help me obtain temporary work? I shouldn't pre- 
sume to trouble you, Mr. Stem ; but as a matter of 
fact poor health has put me in rather a bad way.” 

The other did not reply at once. Obviously he was 
weighing his answer. 

“Can you drop in on me to-morrow afternoon?” 
he said. “I'll be better able to give you something 
deflnite then.” 

“Yes, indeed. I appreciate — .” 

“You say your health is not good?” Mr. Stem 
purposely interrupted the expression of gratitude. 
“What's the trouble?” 

“Fagged nerves, headaches and all that,” replied 
Peter. 

“Then you need a rest, not a newspaper job.” 

“Also,” grinned the Kansan, “I need at least one 
meal a day and a bed at night.” 


298 


Peter Bosten 


The President’s brow became clouded, and his eyes 
assumed a light of inquiry and incredulity. 

‘‘Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Bosten,” he asked, 
with his square look, and in a tone of unmistakable 
interest, “that a man who can write as you do,^ must 
beg hack work?” 

The question warmed Peter toward him, chiefly 
because it indicated that Mr. Stem had no suspicions 
of laziness or bad habits, so common in free lances. 

“The trouble, I think, has been that I’ve refused to 
study popular demands. I haven’t made a practice 
of slinging sentiment of the best-selling kind; and 
now that I’m up against it I haven’t the faculty — 
even though I temporarily had the desire, — ^to write 
it. You’ll understand what lines I’ve followed, after 
you’ve read this manuscript here.” 

Obviously, Mr. Stem was interested. He coaxed 
the writer to go in and spend the night with him. 
But reflecting that he had no asperin along, Peter 
declined, promising to call the following afternoon. 
As they bade each other good-night Stern took a book 
from his pocket and handed it to the writer, with the 
words : 

“You’ll appreciate the philosophy of it at any rate.” 

Peter mused, as he walked homeward, on the com- 
plexity of human thought and experience. Noel 
Crayne had asked him to read this same book six 


A Sei'mon on America 


299 


years previously, and although he had promised to 
do so and intended doing so, the desire had never 
come to him. 

“Then,'' soliloquized the Kansan, “I was full of 
life's joy. I knew what love and respect for humanity 
were. I was appalled by the world's wisdom and 
achievements, allured by its promises, deceived by 
its flattery. Now I am sick of it all ; the glamor has 
ceased to attract, the glory has disappeared. I see 
the littleness of man, rather than his boasted great- 
ness. He is far smaller, even, than he looked from 
the top of that skyscraper on Broadway. His in- 
significance, alone, is appalling; his hypocrisy, his 
egotism — disgusting. 

“Evidently this book thinks no better of him than 
I do. So we ought to agree. I care not what has 
been said about it. The praise or condemnation of 
these little two-legged ants — in heaven's name, what 
does it signify !" 

Propping himself up with pillows and easing the 
pain of overworked nerves by artificial means, Peter 
began to read the book loaned him. 

At the same time Mr. Stern, in his room, was deep 
in the manuscript that had so offended Vancouver 
editors a fortnight previously. 

Both of them read until long past midnight. 

The following morning Peter slept late, and when 


300 


Peter Bosten 


he arose, his head, though dizzy, gave him little 
trouble. He stimulated himself with two cups of 
strong coffee, at a lunch counter some blocks away, 
came back to his room for a few more hours' read- 
ing, then set out for President Stem's lodging. 

The latter greeted him with a hearty handshake, 
but said nothing beyond: '‘How are you to-day?" 

The Kansan wanted to ask him about the manu- 
script, but refrained, on second thought, from men- 
tioning it. Doubtless the leader of a hundred thou- 
sand church members had other things to occupy 
his mind. Nor did Peter refer to the book he had 
himself borrowed, not desiring to make premature 
comments. 

They had been conversing casually a while when 
suddenly Mr. Stern opened a drawer in his dressing 
stand and brought forth the manuscript. 

“What do you propose to do with this?" he asked, 
with assumed indifference. 

“Nothing," rejoined the Kansan, with a half smile. 
“I wrote it for the Canadian periodicals and as they 
refused it I guess the poor thing will suffer the fate 
of many a predecessor." 

Mr. Stem was studying him. 

“Are you really serious, Mr. Bosten?" 

“Yes. Why not? You don't imagine I value it, do 
you?" 


A Sermon on America 


301 


The other’s eyes widened peculiarly. 

“Why then did you want my opinion about it?” 

“Well,” said Peter, “I just thought I’d like to have 
it. Your views coincided so thoroughly with my 
own that I figured you might find a little diversion 
in the story, and would probably say things about 
it that would afford me food for reflection. Reflect- 
ing, you know, is about my only pastime.” 

“And you don’t value it much, you say?” 

“I value nothing very much, Mr. Stem. Life has 
lost its spice to me.” His tone was solemn, convinc- 
ing. “This work of my hands and brain means little 
to me, for the reason that I have no task ahead, now, 
except mere existence.” 

Stern leafed the manuscript over thoughtfully. 
For the moment he had forgotten it was in his hands. 

“I’m looking for a private secretary,” he said, af- 
ter a silence. “The one I’ve had wants to quit me 
here, now, instead of a month later, as it had been 
arranged. Would you, I wonder, care to take the 
position temporarily?” 

Peter felt his heart beat faster, on the instant, and 
impulsively expressed his pleasure at the prospect 
offered. Before the words were well out of his mouth 
he felt that he had blundered: he would — among 
other things — ^be imposing upon the President, in the 
present state of health ; but Mr. Stem took him up in 


302 


Peter Bosten 


a businesslike way, naming the salary attached to the 
office, and the places whither he was bound. 

The arrangement, in fact, was completed almost 
before the Kansan realized his situation ; and then it 
was too late to withdraw. He would have to do his 
best. If the work taxed him too heavily he would 
increase his allowance of asperin. 

'T don't want to inspire great expectations," smiled 
Mr. Stem, by and by, turning the manuscript over 
on his knee now with a look of conscious scrutiny, 
'‘but I have a notion I can place this story." 

However, notwithstanding the statement was 
made in a tone of assurance, Peter felt no thrills. 
The lure of authorship and “success" had disap- 
peared with all the other glamor. 

“In that case," he replied, picking up the miniature 
of a little girl from Stem's writing table, “I make 
your daughter a present of the proceeds." 


The Why and Wherefore 


303 


CHAPTER XVIII 

THE WHY AND WHEREFORE 

In an eastbound train that had just left Denver, 
sat President Stern and his secretary in conversa- 
tion. It was now late in February. Their destina- 
tion was Le Bois, Iowa, where the coming General 
Conference would soon convene. 

The two had been associated for about three 
weeks, during which time Peter had found his com- 
panion to be a companion indeed. However, the 
stress of work had been so great, upon both of them, 
that they had had but little opportunity for recrea- 
tion, conversational or otherwise. 

All the time Peter had been reading and rereading 
the book loaned him ; and now, with several hours of 
leisure before them, he believed the proper moment 
to discuss it, had arrived. 

One morning the President had, with a grin, ad- 
dressed his assistant as “Brother’’ ; since which time 
this form of address had been tacitly adopted be- 
tween them. It had an unique significance, in their 
case. 

“Brother Stern,” the Kansan now began, “this is 
the first good opportunity we have had of discussing 
anything. Do you mind if I make some frank con- 
fessions and demand a lot of information?” 


304 


Peter Bosten 


''Not at all. Fve been expecting an onslaught for 
some time.'’ 

"Well, I've been trying to find out just where I 
stand, and to put my thoughts and feelings into defi- 
nite form. Besides, I wanted to finish your Book of 
Ancient America before speaking. 

"In the first place. Brother Stem, I want you to 
know that your San Francisco sermon took hold of 
me as nothing has ever done. I could not resist the 
force of it, in spite of my views concerning divinity. 
If my mind had been so shaped in the beginning, or 
so trained since birth, perhaps, as to admit of re- 
ligious belief, your sermon would doubtless have 
made a convert of me. But, although I marvel at 
this wonderful system of faith in the God you are 
representing, and at the sincerity with which you 
and so many of your people adhere to it, for some 
reason I can not accept it. I can not conceive of the 
necessity of baptism by water, for instance; and 
what you call 'spiritual manifestations' bewilder me. 

"From the first time I met Noel Crayne, in the 
basement of your church at Petit City, and mingled 
with that earnest congregation of young and old, 
I felt attracted toward you all. I even wished I 
could become one of you, without a sacrifice of logic. 
But, somehow, I was unable to surrender to this 
faith. It seemed like a victory of sentiment over 


The Why and Wherefore 


305 


sense. I could not conceive of the Creator of the 
Universe interfering in the petty concerns of man- 
kind. In fact, I could not conceive of him at all. 

‘Trayer seemed like begging the question or ap- 
plying salve to the conscience. The religious world 
seemed to me a whirling sphere of contradictions, 
assumptions and delusions. That your church repre- 
sented the highest form of religious life, I believed ; 
but that it was all it claimed to be I could not be- 
lieve/' 

The speaker paused; and his companion, with a 
thoughtful look, remarked: 

‘T observe that you put all this in the past tense." 

“Yes," Peter returned quickly; “but I'm afraid — 
to be perfectly honest — my convictions are chronic. 
I have passed through experiences since then. 
Brother Stern, that have made the whole world look 
different ; that have literally killed my interest in life, 
on this sphere at least; but I can't seem to compre- 
hend what you call this ‘gospel of Christ' yet. That 
the world needs regenerating, I admit; but that 
your ‘plan of salvation' can effect it, I am unable to 
believe. 

“Tell me, my friend: from your point of view 
what is wrong with me? Do I, after all, lack sin- 
cerity? Why can not I have this thing called Faith?" 

The President did not reply directly to the ques- 


306 


Peter Bosten 


tion. Instead, with a pensive expression in his eyes, 
he began to tell of his own soul-striving, before he be- 
came actively affiliated with the church. 

“The thing that convinced me of the power of 
this gospel, I believe, was my father’s own life. I 
suppose you know that I succeeded him in the presi- 
dency of the church?” 

“Yes,” said the Kansan; “there aren’t many re- 
ligious or nonreligious people who have not heard 
his name and something about his work ” 

“Either good or bad,” came the interruption. 

“Yet those who knew him personally invariably 
spoke well of him,” Peter went on. “In spite of the 
disgrace thrown upon his name by those who were 
interested in doing so, I believe him to have been a 
splendid man.” 

“I like to hear that from a disinterested source,” 
observed the other. “It surely is true. He was un- 
doubtedly a great man, in the true sense of great- 
ness. . . . But, as I was saying, his life was the great- 
est of all inspirations to me, I think. Being, like 
yourself, naturally of a skeptical mind, I believe I 
should have rejected the gospel, from a purely in- 
tellectual standpoint, had not father’s life gripped 
me. 

“It was a peculiar thing. Brother Bosten. I often 
look back upon it and marvel. I was a headstrong, 


The Why and Wherefore 


307 


practical-minded, pugilistic sort of individual who 
absolutely abhorred the sentimental. I was for what 
is called ‘virile life’ as opposed to the philosophic. 
The world to me was a place of intense interest, and 
men who ‘did things’ were my little gods. I had no 
patience with theoretical persons or schemes. My 
great cry was: ‘Deliver the goods first and praise 
your delivery system afterwards!’ 

“For a long time I took no interest in my father’s 
work. His religion seemed visionary and imprac- 
tical to me. In fact, religion of all kinds failed to 
impress me. I reveled in the thought of universal 
evolution wherein progress came only to the strong, 
the ‘fittest’ to survive. What constituted ‘fitness’ I 
did not stop to ascertain. I jumped at the conclusion 
that it was those attributes, whatever they were, that 
characterized the survivors. 

“This theory, as you can readily see, involved an 
assumption of the very point in question. The fit- 
test survived, therefore those who survived were the 
fittest! Fine logic that. The definition of ‘fitness,’ 
of course, was ignored. My reason was swept away 
by my desire to aggrandize man ; make him the ar- 
biter of his own fate, the hewer of his own niche in 
the universe. 

“Then, by and by, I began to apply my theory of 
evolution to my surroundings. I tried to include 


308 


Peter Bosten 


the men and women with whom I daily associated, 
in the circle of fitness. But here I became involved 
in a labyrinth of paradoxes and contradictions that 
dizzied me. No matter how scientifically I worked 
out my application, I found the definition of the 
quality of fitness still in question. This was the 
elusive thing for ever assumed. 

‘‘Finally, tired of running around in a circle, I 
began looking about me for a standard by which to 
judge all things. It was clear to me that if I were 
to make any real advancement I must have a cri- 
terion. I was a long while seeing this truth, but 
eventually my environment showed it to me. 

“But where was the standard? In art? Obviously 
not. In science? No ; scientists ignored the soul, the 
‘life' of man; concerning themselves with his body, 
alone, and his environment. In religion? If so, in 
what religion? There were many of them, each 
claiming to be the ‘right' one, and rejecting the 
claims of others. 

“Again I came to the limits of my mental re- 
sources. I felt that the standard I sought must be 
a moral not a material standard ; it must concern 
the soul, the thinking, creating part of man, for it 
was that, not brute muscle or mere intelligence, that 
drove him onward in his course. But my mind 
seemed incapable of locating this standard : and for 


The Why and Wherefore 


309 


a long time I proclaimed myself an Agnostic. I de- 
clared that no man knew anything; that all his the- 
ories were groundless assumptions. 

“But, my friend, I was not satisfied. I felt a po- 
tentiality within me that cried for intelligent action. 
Yet I could not bring myself to pray. Like you, I 
considered prayer an hypocrisy. 

“Well, this was my state of mind when the great 
conviction of my life came to me. It happened one 
Sunday morning in church, while my father was 
preaching. 

“His subject was ‘Godly service,’ and as I sat there 
listening to him a great mist rolled away from be- 
fore my eyes. I saw the human family from the 
beginning, it seemed ; ever striving for a Something 
which they did not comprehend but yearned for 
nevertheless. Their hands were outstretched toward 
the skies and they all seemed to be gazing upward. 
But as I looked closer I found my mistake. The 
outstretched hands and the staring eyes had for their 
object the material possessions of this mean earth. 
I saw greed, confusion, hatred, murder, — endless 
strife. 

“And then a Figure arose whom my soul recog- 
nized as the Savior of Men. He walked amid the 
fighting multitude, crying peace, lifting up those that 


310 


Peter Bosten 


fell in the strife, sacrificing his own life in the serv- 
ice of his fellow creatures. 

was enough. I had found my standard : it was 
Christlike service. Nothing else counted; nothing 
else mattered. 

reviewed my father^s own life. It had been one 
of self-abnegation, of love for his fellow men and 
service toward them. His eyes were ever turned 
away from the material things. He seemed to see 
only human need and human woes ; and with all his 
great soul strove to fulfill the one and ameliorate the 
other. 

*'1 went home from church to my room and prayed 
to God for courage and strength. I prayed for faith, 
too, my friend! And do you know why? My brain 
told me it was an illogical act, according to human 
standards. But had I not renounced these standards 
and chosen the divine? Yes: and herein was my re- 
generation, my salvation. I realized that the ob- 
struction to faith had been my own selfishness. In 
my egotism I had been blind : but in his mercy God 
opened my eyes. 

'The secret. Brother Bosten, lies in humility. This 
is my message to you ! the one I have longed to im- 
part. The message that Jesus Christ brought to the 
world; the plan of salvation, whereby all men may 
rise to a nobler status of life. They may go their 


The Why and Wherefore 


311 


human ways here, mighty in their own conceit; but 
when this mortal life is done and they face the Truth 
beyond, the realization of failure will be bound to 
come. And while the Scriptures, in their fullness, 
as I understand them, do not point to any such illog- 
ical hell as you and I have heard preached; never- 
theless I believe they make it clear that men shall 
'reap what they have sown.’ This ought to be a 
sufficiently illuminating intimation to the sincere, 
intelligent soul.” 

The Kansan’s attitude invited further speech. 

"And let me say, my brother,” the speaker finished, 
"that in this fact of reaping what is sown, of re- 
ward according to works, lies, as I view it, the prin- 
ciple of true human progress. There is no true evo- 
lution not comprehended in the gospel of Christ. 
The trouble with your earthly systems is that they 
ignore the moral, the spiritual, the godly considera- 
tion. They are, in fact, but human imitations of the 
divine. 

"Geologists and biologists may dig and delve 
throughout all time ; but unless the alleged facts they 
uncover correspond with Truth — which never ig- 
nores spiritual obligations — ^they are worthless for 
the guidance of mankind. They are not facts at all, 
but vain and harmful theories.” 


312 


Peter Bosten 


As was his habit, Mr. Stern came to an abrupt con- 
clusion. 

But the agnostic did not seem to realize that a con- 
clusion had been reached. He sat submerged in 
thought. His companion, however, did not take ad- 
vantage of the silence to continue speaking. Instead, 
he picked up a magazine on mechanics (electricity 
being one of his hobbies) and was soon lost in it. 

This move, Peter knew, was not a tactical one. It 
was perfectly in harmony with Stern’s nature to 
present a matter as forcefully as possible and leave 
it at that. Nor could any method of argument have 
carried more weight with the Kansan. 

Stern had done what few eminent theologians ever 
do: given a questioner credit for possessing com- 
mon intelligence. He had placed the free-thinking 
writer on equal spiritual and intellectual terms with 
himself, then presented his case without the usual 
assumptions and admonitions. 

The Kansan once again reviewed his life experi- 
ences, recalling the theories and practices of such 
individuals as the Ladner editor; applying Stem’s 
test of truth to things of earth, including men and 
their doings: and there came to his soul a partial 
conviction that at last he had encountered something 
irrefutable, strong and sure. 

Here, it seemed, was a dream that was logical ! A 


The Why and Wherefore 


313 


dream incomprehensible to the '‘carnal man^' ; intel- 
ligible only to the soul that had learned, through 
suffering, to crave what was above earth. 

Peter imagined the whole world accepting this 
“plan of salvation.'' Such a thing was not incon- 
ceivable, though highly improbable. He saw all the 
mean types of men submitting to it ; forgetting their 
selfish quests and going in search of salvation. He 
saw them bend the knee, in humility, before a Power 
they yearned to comprehend; not that they might 
flatter and coax him, but that they might learn of 
him. 

Here was the logical reason for prayer. It sub- 
jected the carnal mind to spiritual law. The sup- 
plicant himself profited by the submission of his de- 
sires to the divine — not the God he supplicated. 

Peter realized that his own reasoning had been at 
fault. And why? Because it was the outcome of 
selfish thought. His mind had been working against 
the Mind of the Universe. 

It all seemed perfectly clear to him now. In spite 
of his sincerity of purpose he had been misguided by 
his Ego. 

Sincerity. He had once considered it the touch- 
stone to honesty and truth. Ah, and so it was ! But 
how to define “sincerity"? There were various 
brands, only one of which was genuine. To avail 


314 


Peter Bosten 


anything, sincerity must correspond with Truth. 
The zeal of the heathen mother who cast her infant 
into the flames — was there anything beautiful, en- 
nobling about it? According to earthly standards 
it might be considered ''heroic,'’ even "noble." But 
were not "earthly standards" the strongest factors 
in retarding true human evolution? Undoubtedly. 
What the world needed was the standard of the Fig- 
ure in White, who "went about doing good." He, in 
very truth, was the "way and the life." In Him lay 
the explanation of all things. 

Even as the thought entered his brain, Peter real- 
ized that he had never disposed of the "Man Christ 
Jesus" to his own satisfaction. This being had al- 
ways haunted him in his most solemn moments. . . . 

Whence had come that vision of Madison Square 
Garden? Had it been sent to him from heaven for 
his guidance? If so, how was it he had been able to 
throw it off his mind? And why did not such visions 
come to all soul-strivers? There must be countless 
honest, thirsting mortals on earth. 

How about the Buddhists and Mohammedans and 
their yearnings after the truth? How about their 
leaders, indeed — men who had performed great deeds 
and blessed millions of lives? Why had not Christ, 
if he were the Son of the only true and living God, 
appeared to them as well as the Jews? 


The Why and Wherefore 


316 


What of all this religious strife? Stern's church 
was not the only one claiming to represent Christ. 
If his were in reality the true one, what about the 
others ? Christianity as a whole was narrow enough : 
it excluded billions of “heathen." But how about 
this one little phase of Christianity, which excluded 
all but a hundred thousand souls? 

Peter put the question up to his companion, im- 
pulsively. 

“ ‘Strait is the gate and narrow is the way and few 
there be that find it,' " quoted the latter. “Did not 
the Master himself have but few followers?" 

“Yes, — according to the Bible he did. But why? 
How do you account for it? Does it sound reason- 
able, in the light of his great claims? Why should 
he confine his services to a mere handful of people?" 

Mr. Stem smiled, with the same sympathetic light 
in his eyes that Peter had seen in Freely's, that day 
at the New Jersey reunion ; and the Kansan was con- 
scious of resenting it, now as then. 

“Human reason can not fathom divine mysteries," 
came the reply. “Faith is not knowledge. ‘Now we 
see through a glass darkly,' but in the Beyond we 
‘shall see face to face.' We must believe, first of all. 
There is no substitute for faith, my friend." 

Peter did not reply. Stem's answer chilled him. 

The enthusiasm that had accompanied the Presi- 


316 


Peter Bosten 


dent's personal testimony and immediately followed 
it, was fast disappearing in the skeptic's heart; and 
pouring in upon him came the old flood of doubts. 

At last, his head bursting and his soul sick of the 
struggle, Peter faced his companion with a strange 
light in his eyes and cried : 

“There is only one hell and that is Ignorance ! I 
would gladly writhe in the bottomless pit, condemned 
to a term of diabolical torment, if only I knew that 
when my suffering had an end I should And knowl- 
edge,*' 

With that the Kansan abruptly left his friend's 
presence and persuaded the porter to make him up a 
berth. 

Doubling his usual portion of asperin he lay down 
to sleep and determinedly closed his mind against 
thought ; the while President Stern prayed earnestly 
in his seat. 

Two days later, at the same hour, Noel Crayne 
and his wife sat talking in the kitchen of their little 
Iowa home. 

“I don't think there's any use of inviting anyone, 
dear," the Missourian was saying, “until he's finished 
his book. You know what a state of mind he is in — 
or do you, I wonder?" 

“Yes, I think I understand him fairly well, Noel. 


The Why and Wherefore 


317 


Poor Peter is an artist, by nature, so why shouldn*t 
I understand him?’' 

He smiled in recognition of the complimentary in- 
ference. 

'^That’s right, I guess. He works like a madman. 
Do you know, Jessie, I fancy he is taking something.” 

'‘What makes you think so?” 

“Well, he is not himself. He is not the Peter I 
knew of old. His moods are irritable, his mind is 
distraught, and his eyes seem to be gazing afar off 
all the time,” 

The Missourian’s voice was not quite steady. Jes- 
sie moved over toward him and patted his cheek. 

“You mustn’t worry about it, Noel. This spasm 
will pass. Tell me, how long do you think it will take 
him to complete the story?” 

“It’s hard to say, dear. But judging by the way he 
has started off I should say not long, it’s a question 
in my mind whether his nerves will stand it. Why, 
as you know, he scarcely eats anything. If it were 
not for the coffee it would be almost impossible to 
coax him down to the table at all. 

“It all seems so strange to me,” he went on, pen- 
sively. “His coming here as Milton’s secretary so 
unexpectedly ; asking for a two weeks’ holiday pre- 
sumably to rest up, and then going desperately to 
work like this.” 


318 


Peter Bosten 


“Maybe/’ she ventured, “he wants to get it done 
before Conference.” 

“Before Conference?” said Noel. “Why, Jessie, 
at the rate he’s going it won’t take him two weeks. 
He’s turning out first-class copy at the rate of a 
thousand words an hour. He’s actually got three 
chapters finished since yesterday morning. On the 
basis of the average novel, the thing will only take 
him about seventy or eighty hours. But I can’t con- 
ceive of his keeping up this pace for a solid week. 
However the approach of conference may have 
some bearing on his haste, as you suggest. It 
wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he even figures 
on publication before April the first.” 

Jessie shook her head skeptically. 

“That would be an unheard-of feat in novel pub- 
lishing — at least for our Banner Office. I presume 
he will give them first chance with the manuscript?” 

“The Banner” plant was the pride of Le Bois. 

“Oh, yes. He is writing it expressly for them, I 
think. You know, dear, if I really made up my mind 
to boss him I could bring him, to some extent, out of 
his daze. Once or twice to-day I interrupted him 
with malice aforethought. Muse or no Muse ; but, do 
you know, I half regretted it when he looked at me 
with those questioning eyes of his, as though won- 


The Why and Wherefore 


319 


dering why I interfered, begging me to leave him 
alone just for a little while/' 

The bishop's niece played with a stray wisp of 
black hair. 

*Tt's queer," she observed, philosophically, “but 
you men of genius never seem to understand each 
other. It takes a practical old thing like me to do it, 
after all. Now, Noel, like a good boy just forget 
Peter and leave him alone. The harder he works 
the sooner he will be done. I'll personally see that he 
doesn't starve. By the way, did you get a glimpse 
of the part he has already finished?" 

Noel laughed, in his rumbling bass, under the spell 
of his young wife's soothing words. 

“Is it feminine curiosity?" he asked, “or literary 
interest?" 

“A little of both," she answered, truthfully. 

“Then, since you're so honest. I'll tell you. When 
he wasn't paying any attention whatever to me, I 
picked up the first sheet of his manuscript and read 
it; and while I could not tell from that just how he 
would treat his subject, or, in fact, exactly what the 
subject was, I recognized a certain spirit, which, if 
he carries it through, will make the story strong. 
Probably you're right in urging me to leave him 
alone, dear. But it's hard to see dear old Peter kill- 
ing himself by inches." 


320 


Peter Bosten 


A pinch punished him for this. 

''Don’t you go falling in love with him again,” she 
warned. "He used to take you away from me more 
than I liked, once upon a time — although I never said 
anything. But now I claim the major part.” 

The Missourian rebuked her in looks if not in 
words for this remark ; but neglected to make a con- 
fession involving stray affections, which he had often 
been on the verge of making, but could never quite 
seem to find a strong enough motive for so doing. 
The old adage about ignorance and bliss invariably 
carried weight with him while wavering over this 
matter. Yet, he knew he would tell her, sometime. 

"It’s rather phenomenal, when you think of it,” 
Jessie observed, smoothing down the wisp of hair she 
had been twisting; "this sudden impulse of Peter’s 
to write a novel along the lines of our faith. How 
do you explain it, Noel?” 

"I can’t, dear. There is no explaining Peter, in 
anything he does, as a rule. Possibly he just sees a 
theme capable of original, forceful treatment. It 
may be the artistic faculty, alone. Then again, God’s 
Spirit may be at work. It is hard to say. We are 
all speculators, aren’t we, when it comes down to the 
deeper meanings of life?” 

"We would be,” she corrected, "if it were not for 
the enlightenment of the gospel.” 


The Why and Wherefore 


321 


''Of course,” he returned. And smilingly, — "You 
shouldn’t make a skeptic of me on such small provo- 
cation. I was thinking from a purely human point 
of view when I spoke.” 

"I understand — silly! Do you know, I believe I 
have it. He didn’t decide to take a vacation until the 
night before last, did he?” 

Noel nodded in agreement. 

"And he gossiped with us all the afternoon he 
arrived, didn’t he?” 

"Go on,” said the Missourian, "I’ll agree to every- 
thing you say — to save time.” 

"Thank you. Well, he talked quite like his old 
self for a while after arriving. His gaze was fo- 
cused on us and the room at first. But gradually, as 
we related the changes that had taken place in five 
years : your marriage and appointment as assistant 
pastor to the Le Bois Branch ; the advancement made 
in college and the church by Allan Leader ; the great 
change in Adele Cressy, and her growing attachment 
for Allan: he seemed to lose himself in a sort of 
dream. I believe, Noel, that he was then beginning 
to conceive this story he has so impulsively begun.” 

She looked into the Missourian’s eyes for en- 
couragement, and must have found it, for she con- 
tinued : 

"He was distraught at supper, and afterwards he 


322 


Peter Bosten 


went over to where Brother Stern is staying and se- 
cured his leave of absence from duty. Then, bright 
and early next morning — ^yesterday, he set to work. 
. . . Listen, you can hear the tapping of his typewriter 
at this moment."’ 

“Yes,” said Noel, after a silence, “the dear old 
fellow is killing himself.” 

Another pause followed this remark, after which 
Jessie continued to perplex her already puzzled hus- 
band. 

“How do you account for his indifference to men- 
tion of Helen Dyke’s name? When I hinted that she 
was still unmarried he only lapsed a little further 
into his dream.” 

“Which,” added the Missourian thoughtfully, 
“may mean far more than you or I can guess.” 


‘'The Way of Faith” 


323 


CHAPTER XIX 
''THE WAY OF FAITH"' 

The manager of The Banner of Truths whom 
everyone knew as such an active man, sat dreaming 
at his desk. How long he would have continued to 
ignore the heap of papers before him, had he not been 
interrupted by the entrance of a friend, even the 
office boy could not have conjectured. 

"Hello, Brother Stem," he greeted, coming out of 
his musing. "How are you this morning?" 

It was Adam, not Milton Stem who had come in. 

"Fine, thank you. Brother Carr. I just dropped in 
to learn something about the religious romance 
which rumor says lies here in this office. I under- 
stand Noel Crayne's friend, Bosten, wrote it?" 

"Yes. Do you know him personally?" 

"No. I met him just the other day, but we had no 
opportunity of getting acquainted. Poor chap is 
pretty sick this morning, I understand. It seems he 
finished his book in ten days, revisions and all; 
which, if it's a fact, doubtless explains the strong 
nervous reaction he's having." 

Mr. Carr stroked his sandy Vandyke. 

"I can't get over it, myself, Adam. If the thing 
were void of thought, lacked soul and showed signs 


324 


Peter Bosten 


of merely mechanical construction, I might under- 
stand it. But there is real life in the story ; real soul- 
yearnings. From the standpoint of cultured writ- 
ings, of course, it is not 'literature.' But, to me, it 
is something more. It portrays life truthfully, and 
these mortal thoughts passionately." 

Adam Stem's countenance brightened. 

"This is good news, Alex. Especially will it be so 
to Noel. Since the completion of the story it's he 
that's been in suspense. The author himself is en- 
tirely nonchalant. He refuses to even talk about it. 
All he wants to do is sleep and rest." 

The manager pressed a buzzer, and the office boy, a 
typical member of his craft, entered. 

"Dicky, will you ask the foreman to step here, 
please?" 

After transferring his gum from one locality, 
within his capacious mouth, to another and grinning 
in acknowledgment of the visitor's smile, "Dicky" 
saw fit to obey. 

"Burton," asked Carr, when the printer stood be- 
fore him, "are both of the linotypes loaded up?" 

"No, sir. I think not." 

"How long would it take you to set up about ninety 
galleys of good typewritten copy, in ten-point double 
leaded — ^by speeding up the men and working both 
machines?" 


*^The Way of FaW^ 


325 


The printer scratched his head. 

“I reckon about twenty-four hours, Mr. Carr.” 

“Very well. Clear for action right away. I’ll have 
you some of the manuscript in a few minutes.” 
Turning to Stem. “My idea, Adam, is to make up 
about a hundred dummies, of uncorrected proof if 
necessary, and distribute them around at Conference 
time. In this way I can ascertain the selling possi- 
bilities of the book and the size of the edition I ought 
to undertake.” 

“Besides,” smiled the other, “getting a lot of fun 
out of the thing.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Why, hearing the verdicts of various minds. Of 
course, I haven’t read the story yet; but if it deals 
with church people and ideals, we are not guessing 
when we forecast philosophical, if not gladiatorial, 
combats.” 

They laughed together, perhaps not so much over 
the remark, as over memories of many a Conference 
business session. 

“What do you say,” asked Stern, “if I take a day 
off, myself, and read the thing — sit right down here 
and go through each chapter before the linotypist 
gets it?” 

“Good idea!” cried Carr, enthusiastically. “You’ll 
probably think it arbitrary of me not to have sug- 


326 


Peter Bosten 


gested such a thing myself? But, you see, there will 
be opportunity for revising the story later on, any- 
way; and I certainly did not intend ignoring either 
you or Milton/’ 

But already Adam Stern was oblivious of his sur- 
roundings. He seemed not to hear the manager’s re- 
mark. With his hat on the back of his head and his 
chair leaning against the wall, he was sinking into 
the story. 

Six hours later the manager came in from an ex- 
ceptionally late lunch and found his friend and 
brother still reading The Way of Faith. 

"‘What,” he said, '‘haven’t you eaten anything, 
Adam?” 

The reader shook his head, drew a hand across his 
eyes, yawned and replied: 

"Your carnal mind shocks me, Alex. I’ll go out 
presently.” 

However, he remained there two hours after that 
— until he had finished the manuscript. Then he 
rose, yawned again and stretched himself. Carr 
glanced at him with a humorous glint in his eye. 

"If I’d stopped to reflect that you were an author 
and poet yourself,” he remarked, "dipped in the 
flame like the rest of them, I might have ordered an 
easy chair sent up here. . . . But come, I’m anxious to 


327 


^^The Way of FaiW^ 

have your opinion : please don't keep me in suspense 
like this." 

Mr. Stern sat down again, and faced the manager. 

“I can say this much, Brother Carr : The story is 
about you and me, and therefore it can not fail to 
interest us. I took upon myself the soul of the Ag- 
nostic character as I proceeded. Most of us know 
him, I guess, down in our being. Yes, I liked it. 
Nothing quite like it has been written, so far as I 
know. Members of the church will read it, un- 
doubtedly. But whether you will make money out of 
it or not is a different matter. Only sincere minds 
will take to it. It is not a story for what we call 'sum- 
mer reading.' You are doing the wise thing, I think, 
in making up these dummies. 

'T like it best, I believe, because it strengthens one 
in the conviction that after all the influence of a 
man's daily life is the big factor in advertising Jesus 
Christ. We may preach ourselves hoarse and cry 
‘Faith' until our hearers are deaf; but unless we 
show what the gospel has done in our own lives, we 
accomplish nothing, we degrade our message, our- 
selves and our Maker. 

“This skeptic- writer has accomplished a work 
worth while ; yes, I feel sure he has. It may not meet 
with the approval of everybody; but it meets with 
my approval at least. There is a breadth of vision in 


328 


Peter Bosten 


it, just as there is a depth of ignorance, and the con- 
trast proves humanly, nay spiritually, interesting.” 

Carr smiled, pleased. 

^‘What do you think,” he asked, guiltily, ''of the 
words he puts into your own mouth?” 

"Mine?” 

"Yes; don't you recognize yourself in the story?” 

Stern smiled peculiarly. 

"My dear sir,” he answered, "for a publisher your 
literary perception is most inartistic. If you can go 
literalizing the characters and situations of Mr. 
Boston's story like this, right on the start — ^you, the 
official acceptor of the story, — I fear to reflect 
upon the possibilities of perversion elsewhere. Some 
guilty soul will And himself in the character of the 
villain, and go in search of the author with a club.” 

Carr laughed to himself, as he wrote a memo and 
listened to his friend's evasion. 

"I am thinking,” he observed, pausing between 
phrases to give some attention to his work, "that 
one of the benefits accruing from the publication of 
this story will be, as you have hinted, that of sug- 
gesting the acquisition of a little artistic as well as 
spiritual understanding. Sometimes, I'm afraid, 
our people get the two confused.” 

"Very true,” returned Stern. "I had the same 
thought when I spoke, but neglected to phrase it. 


**The Way of FaiW^ 


329 


We should be very diffident in the presence of a 
publisher, anyway/' 

Carr looked up comically. 

‘‘With that piece of sarcasm I suppose you'll be- 
take yourself off?" 

“Before it's reciprocated, Alex, I reckon I'd better." 
He walked toward the door but there he turned and 
remarked : “I'll see that your remains are given the 
proper attention, after the Conference gets through 
with your dummies." 

A low but hearty laugh reechoed from without, a 
moment later; but the manager's ears being filled 
with a similar sound of his own, he was scarcely 
aware of it. 


“Brother President!" 

“Brother Fraser." 

“I rise to move that the book entitled The Way of 
Faith, samples of which have been distributed among 
many of us here, be recommended for publication by 
this Conference and that the Banner manager be em- 
povrered to preface such indorsation in the book it- 
self." 

“Brother President, I second the motion!" cried 
another — Murdoch, the Scotch-Canadian, no less. 

And then the storm began. 


330 


Peter Bosten 


It was the third business session of the Conference. 

Several missionaries tried to talk simultaneously, 
but they were drowned out by the President's gavel ; 
and Roland Fraser obtained the floor. 

“My reasons for making the motion I have made, 
Mr. President and brothers and sisters, are these : I 
have read the book in question and believe it is of 
such a nature as to interest thinking people. Those 
who read it will, I believe, be struck with the reality 
of its characters and psychological situations; and 
they will, to say the least, be curious to know some- 
thing of the church about which it tells. I am a 
believer in the right kind of advertising; and this 
story, it seems to me, is that kind. It is my opinion 
that if every sincere believer in God could appre- 
ciate the breadth of our teachings and feel the spirit 
that prompts us, there would be a great influx into 
the church of Christ. 

“The story truly represents the highest ideals of 
human, nay spiritual life; by combining art with 
integrity the author has painted a picture which all 
of us may do well to study, and which I can not, my- 
self, help but admire. I heartily indorse the publi- 
cation of The Way of Faith.” 

“Brother President!” 

“Yes, Brother Gibson?” 

“I want to express myself as unfavorable to the 


''The Way of Faith” 


331 


book in question/' The speaker was obviously not a 
missionary. He wore a light-tweed suit, a bright tie 
decorated with a diamond pin, and other articles of 
dress indicative of prosperous business life. “In the 
first place this story has been written by a nonmem- 
ber and a nonbeliever in God. I have read one of the 
dummies and have taken the trouble to find out some- 
thing about the author. He is, I am sorry to say, 
sick in bed at this moment ; but I understand he has 
rejected the gospel for years, and therefore I can not 
believe he has been guided by the Spirit in his work. 
It seems to me this church should confine itself to 
spiritual publications. If we want fiction, let us pick 
up a volume of Charles Dickens, who was the high- 
est exponent of purely humanitarian ideals. More- 
over, I believe The Way of Faith hits at certain in- 
dividuals in this church who are doing their best. 
Because a man succeeds in business he must not be 
considered dishonest and hypocritical. There is a 
certain member of this church, a friend of mine in 
the East, whom I believe has been dealt with too 
severely ; and let me say frankly that I read in this 
story we are discussing a misrepresentation of that 
very man. 

“I want to see this motion defeated. The book is 
not literature. It is clumsily written, and it ends 
absurdly. The best modern writers are in favor of 


332 


Peter Bosten 


the happy ending, and, personally, I can not tolerate 
a story that terminates otherwise. Let me urge my 
brothers and sisters to vote against the publication 
of a novel that is not a novel, and a sermon from an 
infidel.^’ 

At least twenty fiery-eyed men, most of them in 
missionary garb, jumped to their feet at the word 
“Infidel.’^ A broad grin overspread President 
Stern^s face, as he endeavored to differentiate the 
many “Brother Presidents'' hurled at him. 

“I think," he said, “I am obliged to recognize 
Brother Murdoch." 

The Scotch-Canadian acknowledged his gratitude 
with a bow, and turning toward the last speaker, be- 
gan: 

“The worthy brother's chief objection seems to be 
that there is not a happy ending to the story. At 
least, I take it that that is the chief stumblingblock 
to him. He would taste sugar under his tongue at 
the finish; hear the echo of the old refrain, 'Je vous 
aime' ; Tch liebe dich' ; and so on. But let me submit, 
brothers and sisters, that the true novelist does not 
deceive his readers. Dickens was a great writer, 
but he threw his magic web over many stem realities 
which we would do well to face and endeavor to re- 
form. For instance, he treated the matter of in- 


333 


'*The Way of Faith” 

temperance lightly, throwing a glamor around the 
tippler's life. 

“Our fellow countryman here who lies sick as a 
result of his labor, Brother Bosten — I call him 
‘Brother' unhesitatingly, for though he may not have 
joined the church and may not see as we do, I con- 
sider him a sincere and noble character. Whatever his 
lot may be Hereafter; whatever his actions may be 
during the remainder of his life on earth, indeed : I 
consider that he has accomplished a work that will 
last ; one that will bring forth good fruits. Does my 
worthy brother over here suppose that good can 
come only out of Zion? Does he suppose that only 
those of us who have a certain brand of faith, can do 
the world's and God's work? I speak of different 
‘brands of faith,' because that is exactly what I 
mean. In this matter of divine realization many of 
us deceive ourselves. Our claims, our pretentions 
are belied by our deeds. 

“But back to the happy ending. I thank the author 
from the bottom of my heart for the honest manner 
in which he brought about his climax. There was 
no self-deception in it; there were no false lights. 
He did not make his Agnostic accept faith on the 
impulse, for the sake of dramatic effect. Not being 
able to conceive of the miraculous, he left miracles 


334 


Peter Bosten 


alone. For this I admire him. Few of us would have 
been so honest-minded. 

‘‘Like my worthy brother here, I regret that the 
leading character of the story was not converted to 
faith in God. But I could not help but feel that the 
author made him do the natural thing. His story, 
after all, is about men — not angels. Some of us win 
in this soul-striving of ours and others lose. But 
whether or not the losers shall be behind us, in the 
great evolution, a thousand years from now, is a 
problem you and I can not solve. 

“Reference has been made to an individual, for- 
merly a church member, about whom I happen to 
know considerable^. I believe, like the last speaker, 
that he is caricatured in the story. And so he ought 
to be. Any man who robs widows and orphans as 
he did, and covers up his sins with a cloak of hypoc- 
risy, deserves not only excommunication from the 
church, but the contempt of an honest-minded writer 
like Brother Bosten. It is individuals like this 
villain in Bosten’s story, who stand in the way of 
Christ's gospel. They ought to be swept aside, once 
their guilt is established ; for the best of us are im- 
pediment enough. Too many of us are stumbling- 
blocks to seekers after truth. 

“And let me express it as my unofficial opinion, 
brothers and sisters, that in the great beyond you 


**The Way of Faith’* 


335 


and I will receive many a surprise. If I am faithful 
enough to gain admittance into the holy city; and 
should I meet the Agnostic hero of the story under 
discussion, upon the streets of gold, my surprise 
would be as small as my joy would be great. For I 
love and have hope for an honest heart, be it Chris- 
tian or ‘heathen.’ 

“The Way of Faith, it seems to me, fills a need we 
have long felt in the literary circles of this church. 
There is romance and passion in our religion, my 
friends. The Christian we admire is not an insane 
hermit, whose life consists of barbaric penance and 
selfish delusions; but a throbbing, suffering, rejoic- 
ing, striving being, spurred by faith, restrained by 
reason, humbled by uncertainty. Such a character 
our fellow thinker and striven has created. That 
he has not ‘converted’ him, as we call it, is his busi- 
ness. 

“Bosten’s Agnostic is typical to me of the honor- 
able man of the earth. We preach the gospel to him 
and make him our friend at once; but, for some 
reason, he never comes into the church. Why? You 
or I can not answer the question, so why should we 
demand an answer of Peter Bosten? The nearest 
we can come to the solution of this psychologic prob- 
lem, is to say that we believe in different ‘rewards’ 
Hereafter. ‘In my Father’s house are many man- 


386 


Peter Bosten 


sions. ... I go to prepare a place for you.' We are 
apportioned, in the mercy of God, a reward accord- 
ing to our works, after death. What those works 
are, he, himself, must determine. It is not for you 
or me, my friend, to sit in judgment upon a fellow 
creature. 

‘'Let me therefore beg of the Conference to sanc- 
tion this story under discussion. It has got heart 
and soul in it. The characters are those we know; 
the strivings are ours too ; and as for the ending — 
it is, as it should be, a mystery to mortal mind. This 
thing we call Life, brothers and sisters, is too elastic 
a force to be hemmed in by prejudices. Let us be 
more liberal-minded in the direction of truth. Christ 
Jesus is too big for us yet; we must stretch out, in 
thought and action, if we would associate with him. 

“I do not ask you to surrender your faith in the 
‘straight and narrow way' which few shall find here 
on earth. Retain it, by all means ; and do your best 
to prove its validity in your daily life. But in the 
realm of Thought, where the mind of man honestly 
interrogates the Mind of the Universe, I beg of you 
to be liberal, charitable. 

“We do not know it all — indeed, we never shall. 
Truth is progressive. A little of it can be picked up 
every day — if we are sufficiently humble. 

“Indorsation of this book means nothing more nor 


**The Way of Faith' 


337 


less than the approbation of truth-seeking. Publi- 
cation of it by our Banner Office, here in Le Bois, 
does not commit us to an approval of all the ideas 
advanced — or of any of them, for that matter. It 
merely means that we recommend it for intelligent 
perusal. The day of pontifical cursings and bless- 
ings, you know, is about over.'' 

Contrary to custom, applause greeted this 
speaker's remarks. Discussion, however, did not 
stop here. It continued (Carr said it ''raged") for 
another hour. 

The last speaker was President Stem himself. 
He gave the chair to his cousin, Adam, and shaking 
his mighty shoulders like a lion preparing to spring, 
bounded into the arena with set jaws and blazing 
eyes. 

It was an uncommon procedure for him. Usually 
he allowed the Conference to fight its own battles. 
Even nov/ he apologized for "inflicting himself upon 
them," as he expressed it; but his apology and the 
reason for it were forgotten in the virile eloquence 
that followed. 

He referred back to Murdoch's argument, and re- 
minded some of the controversialists present that 
they were losing themselves in a maze of bigotry. 

"The 'fullness of the gospel' means nothing as a 
phrase," he said. "We might juggle the words for 


338 


Peter Bosten 


ever without making any intellectual or spiritual 
headway. What we want is a fullness of compre- 
hension, 

“As a former speaker has said, Truth is pro- 
gressive.' The gospel of Christ undoubtedly com- 
prehends all truth ; but then who fully comprehends 
this gospel? It unfolds to us as we advance, my 
friends; and we can only advance by sincerely ap- 
plying ourselves to a search for knowledge and right. 
The faculties we are endowed with must be used to 
the full extent: not until then are we entitled to the 
guidance of Christ's Spirit. If we are mentally lazy, 
and willfully ignorant ; wedded to tradition and vul- 
gar lovers of the superstitious, the mystical ; we can 
not expect to enjoy spiritual understanding — were 
we baptized a thousand times !" 

At this point of the President's remarks, one of 
the ushers handed a dark-eyed young woman, seated 
at a secretary's desk beneath the rostrum, a note; 
and without a moment's delay she followed him out 
of the auditorium. 


^^The Way of FaiW’ 


339 


CHAPTER XX 
A DYING AGNOSTIC 

There is sadness in the breeze and sunshine of an 
early-spring afternoon. Noel Crayne felt it, now, 
as he had never done before. 

After rising suddenly, like one in a trance, and 
begging his friend to send for Helen Dyke at once, 
Peter had lain back exhausted and fallen into a doze 
again. 

Noel watched the sunbeams playing upon the Kan- 
san’s hair ; and resting his cheek against the foot of 
the cot, allowed his tears to flow unchecked. 

Why not? — ^there was no one around. Only God 
looked on ; and he knew the love and sorrow that had 
distilled these tears. 

Presently, however, the Missourian started from 
his reverie, hurriedly wiped his face with a handker- 
chief, and answered a rap on the door. 

'‘Come in, Helen,” he said, quietly. "I think Peter 
will be awake in a moment.” 

She did not reply. It was her first glimpse of the 
Kansan in more than five years. 

There was a long silence, during which an oc- 
casional heavy sigh escaped the sleeper ; but by and 
by Helen spoke. 


340 


Peter Bosten 


‘‘Did he really send for me, Noel?” 

'Tes, Helen, he did; and there was no mistaking 
his tone. He will wake, in a moment — see, he's 
growing restless again.” 

A light groan was followed by a nervous shiver, 
and Peter opened his eyes. 

He did not seem surprised that Helen should be 
sitting there. His gaze rested upon her a moment, 
then he reached out his hand and pressed hers. 

Noel made a plausible excuse, seeing that Peter 
seemed to be so normal, and left them alone. 

'‘Helen,” said the Kansan, his voice steadier than 
it had been earlier in the afternoon, "I didn't send 
for you until I had to. There is a stubborn devil in 
me somewhere that has always made my life more or 
less miserable.” A pause. "You hurt me so much 
once that I thought I'd never be able to get over it. 
But as I look at you, now, and see the same sweet 
face as of old, I know that my love has never really 
died.” 

She knelt beside his bed, at this, and hid her face. 

"I feel that I have come to the end of it all,” he 
went on. "No, no,” he added, in answer to a re- 
proachful movement ; "it isn't imagination, dear. I 
can feel the damp mists of Eternity against my fore- 
head. 

"Do you know, Helen, I have always fancied that 


A Dying Agnostic 


341 


I should never know life’s great joys. They have 
ever seemed intangible to me — like the notes of a 
song or the tints of sunset. I often think that my 
soul must have been shaped differently from the 
average. Perhaps it lacks something.” 

“Peter,” she whispered, “Pm afraid you will tire 
yourself out talking like this. Don’t you think you 
had better just lie still and let me massage your 
throbbing temples?” 

“No,” he answered, with a shade of unnatural im- 
patience, “I must tell you what’s on my mind. I 
can’t rest until I do.” 

As a means of forcing him to obey her, however, 
Helen resolved to do the talking herself ; and began 
to speak of the Conference debate over his book, in 
the hope of interesting him. 

He listened while she spoke of President Stern, 
but lost interest at mention of the others. 

“Whether they publish it or not, he interrupted, 
“it’s not much good. You know, I’ve been thinking, 
Helen — it’s you people who are the doers and I who 
am the preacher. 

“When it comes down to the fine thing, there’s 
not much in words. I think it was Mr. Stern’s com- 
panionship that made me feel this so keenly. He al- 
most had me converted, I believe. But when I came 
back here and found so many changes, — Noel mar- 


342 


Peter Bosten 


ried, Leader reformed, even Adele Cressy interested 
in church work, the romance of the whole thing got 
hold of me and I just had to write it up. 

“This writing habit is characteristic of my nature, 
Fm afraid. There is something insincere about it. 
Yes, that's it — insincerity. That's the trouble you 
always found with me, wasn't it? Own up, Helen?" 

She begged, with wet eyes, that he would not go on 
like this; but he only smiled, though not indiffer- 
ently. 

“It's the truth I'm trying to get at, Helen dear. 
I know that I am facing Eternity. There is no doubt 
about it in my mind. And while I have no fear (I 
can laugh at hell fire and all that heathen supersti- 
tion) , yet I want to pass over on the other side with 
as clear an understanding as possible. 

“Since associating with Stern I've come to the con- 
clusion that my life has been spent selfishly. Why, 
during all my years of struggling to be a writer and 
a reformer, it never entered my head that I was per- 
forming no real service, making no real sacrifice, in 
the cause of my fellow men. I went on thinking of 
myself and working for myself. If I felt the yearn- 
ing, which every true man ought to feel, to help 
somebody, do some one good, I went to my type- 
writer and wrote an article about it — after which I 
felt that the obligation had been discharged ! This, 


A Dying Agnostic 


343 


Helen, is the trouble with artists. Their work may 
be entertaining or even uplifting, but in the final 
analysis it is work performed for themselves. They 
derive the most benefit and pleasure from it.’' 

His mind was working with abnormal energy 
again. Helen urged him to lie still, but in vain. 

'‘You might as well let the candle burn out now as 
later,” he told her ; and although a tear appeared in 
his own eye at sight of her suffering, he went on, as 
though driven by a force he could not control. 

“You, dear, and the rest of you may have been 
right after all when you told me, in words or actions, 
that the obstacle to faith in God with me was selfish- 
ness. Sometimes I feel convinced of the fact, as I 
lie here reviewing the past. Yet, at other times, I 
lose my way in the fogs of ignorance and doubt. Ah, 
dear, it’s weary work ! 

“But, at any rate,” he continued, in a feverish re- 
newal of vim, “an assumption of faith now would 
be sheer hypocrisy. The kind of faith I should want 
is the kind Stern has : the active working kind. It 
is only of use in life — no good in death. I think I 
almost prayed for it the night I began my story here 
in this room, a few weeks ago. I felt that in order 
to possess it I must perform in a few days what I 
had neglected to perform in five or six years. But 
that’s impossible, of course. A dying man can not 


344 


Peter Bosten 


assume the Christ kind of faith. “He hasn't time to 
experience it, — let alone test it.” 

“How about repentance, Peter?” Helen asked, 
regretting the question immediately. 

“You're still a true believer, aren't you?” he 
smiled. “But girl, if you knew how I have striven 
and suffered you would better appreciate my state of 
mind. I might even now ask to be taken out of here 
and baptized for the remission of my sins. It would 
be easy to do that, Helen, — can you understand ? But 
my brain will not permit of it; my intellect rebels. 
I can not conceive of the use of it.” 

“But you might be raised up, Peter,” she returned, 
her eyes lighting up with the fires of faith, — “as 
God's children have often been, by his mercy.” 

The Agnostic shook his head. 

“No, Helen. If faith comes to me it must come 
through my reason, not through my desires. I can 
not bring myself to do an irrational act. Now that I 
am dying I should be a coward to act inconsistently 
with my life. Deathbed repentance is disgusting to 
my intelligence. It is a man's life that must deter- 
mine his estate hereafter — not the manner of his 
death. 

“My works here on earth have not been many, I 
fear. And so, when I go hence, I shall find myself 
in the primary grade, no doubt. But so be it, dear. 


A Dying Agnostic 


345 


I shall try to learn my lessons faithfully, and if I fail 
beyond, as I seem to have failed here, there will be 
other grades, on and on — 

“But Peter,’' she interrupted, “supposing you were 
raised up now and lived to be an old man? Think 
of the useful years there might be before you !” 

He shook his head again, sadly; his face became 
whiter, and he leaned back upon the pillow. 

“I am leaving earth, Helen. There will be no more 
human longing for me after to-day. This mortal 
faith of yours is beyond me, as are all other earthly 
things. I can not make — myself — clearer.” 

He sighed, waited a moment for breath, and pro- 
ceeded : 

“We are saying good-by for a longer period, this 
time, dear. I don’t feel as though we were parting 
for ever, though — isn’t that strange? . . . 

“Good-by, Helen. . . . Forgive me. . . . God forgive 
me, — and — give — me — .” 

The last word was a whisper, and would have been 
inaudible to her had she not drawn near to him as 
he uttered it — 

Knowledge!” 


346 


Peter Bosten 


CHAPTER XXI 

THE NEW PETER 

Outside the stone church, where Peter Bosten’s 
wavering footsteps had first halted, God^s glorious 
sunshine poured down in cleansing beams. The 
flowers in the adjoining gardens spoke of midsum- 
mer, that season of the year when Nature^s beauty 
most successfully defies mortal appreciation, as her 
works defy human understanding. 

The peace of Sabbath seemed to fill even the hearts 
of the sparrows upon the eaves. They peeped and 
twittered, but did not fly noisily about. In their in- 
significant way, they seemed to be musing over life ; 
wondering if it were not, indeed, more than food 
and shelter, flights and chatterings. 

But if the spirit of reflection and quietude reigned 
without, a more solemn influence held sway within 
the walls. A weary wanderer halting by the open 
door of the basement, might well have asked himself 
if here were rest and comf ort of soul at last. 

Solemnly, yet not mournfully, swelled the notes of 
a hymn that has touched many a world-sick heart: 

‘'Lead, kindly Light, amid th’ encircling gloom. 
Lead thou me on ; 

The night is dark and I am far from home. 

Lead thou me on. 


The New Peter 


347 


Keep thou my feet ; I do not ask to see 
The distant scene; 

One step enough for me/' 

But now a voice is speaking, and its notes are 
familiar to us. Let us not pause outside the door, 
stealing the stray joys that come to us, but go in and 
partake of them fully. 

It is the young people's early-morning prayer 
service and a tall, slim man is speaking. He can 
scarcely be over thirty, though the lines of thought 
are stamped upon his face. 

His large, blue eyes are downcast at first, but 
presently he raises them and gazes upon the presid- 
ing officer of the meeting — ^the Missourian, no less. 

“Brothers and sisters, although it is impossible 
for me to express the thoughts and emotions the 
hymn you have just sung stirs in me, I must bear my 
testimony to the mercy of God and the truth of his 
gospel, as best I can. 

“Three months ago I lay sick of body and soul, 
longing to be rid of life, yet looking forward to the 
next world without hope or gladness. I could feel 
the very damp of death upon my cheeks, the mists 
were swallowing me up; and yet I could not yield 
this mortal mind to the Mind of God. 

“I did not know it then, but I know now that I was 


348 


Peter Bosten 


in Hell. My soul groped in darkness. I had reached 
the last dim boundary-line of reason, yet it seemed 
impossible for me to realize my condition. I cried 
for knowledge, until my voice died out and the light 
of my eyes faded. So far as I know I was dead. 

''And then, dear brothers and sisters, the new life 
came. I can not explain it, any more than I can 
explain the sunlight that comes in a golden flood 
through these windows.” 

His voice shook and he was obliged to pause a 
moment. But no curious eyes were turned upon him. 
The pervading spirit of the place, a potentiality that 
made youths and maidens weep, prevented that. 

"New understanding came to me. Indeed, it 
seemed that I had been endowed with a new soul. 

"The first thing I remember, after the darkness, 
was the sound of a voice. It called my name. Then 
I saw and heard a loved one praying for me.” 

The figure sitting beside him sobbed, quietly; but 
no one seemed alarmed at this. 

"After that I realized that my headaches and my 
dizziness were gone. They had disappeared with my 
old brain — ^the carnal brain that sought a human ex- 
planation of everything. 

"It would take a lifetime, I believe, to adequately-* 
describe the mental and spiritual experiences I have 
had since then. They are almost beyond telling. 


The New Peter 


349 


“So I shall content myself, dear friends, with as- 
suring you that I am now happy for the first time 
in my life. 

“This happiness is so full that I pray it may not 
continue uninterruptedly, — lest I become selfish 
again. I want to feel an occasional pang of my old 
soul-suffering, that I may be kept humble and faith- 
ful. This, I have no doubt, will be my portion, too ; 
for I have a naturally restless mind. Yet it is the 
mind God gave me ; and now that it is regenerated, 
I hope and believe that it will eventually submit to 
the eternal purposes of its Maker. 

“This is the joyful assurance that has come to me 
of late. The old man has been laid in the grave, and 
the new man now rises to walk in newness of life. 

“My heart is so full I could testify for ever to 
God's love and mercy; but, even in so good a work, 
must I use my reason. Not the old reason, however, 
— a thing of human dimensions; but the enlight- 
ened faculty that works in unison with faith. 

“I can truly say with John Newman, the author 
of the hymn we have sung, — a man who surely must 
have suffered and been blessed in the same manner 
as I, myself, — 1 do not ask to see the distant scene ; 
one step enough for me.' 

“The entire hymn tells my own story with mar- 
velous accuracy. 


350 


Peter Bosten 


''Ah, brothers and sisters, we can afford to do right 
if it results in such happiness as I have felt of late. 
The sacrifice is not half great enough on our part. 
The Almighty is too generous ! 

"Let me ask you to pray for me, though, in spite 
of my present joy. We are all uncertain mortals and 
can not afford to boast — even of our happiness.'' 

With this remark, he sat down ; and immediately 
a figure arose which always compelled attention in 
those Sunday-morning meetings. 

It was Adele. 

Although a stalwart man-of-battle sat beside her, 
one whom she had learned to love and whose tale of 
life was a viril romance to her; she found difficulty 
in saying a few simple words that would have meant 
absolutely nothing to^ — well, let us say the editor of 
the Ladner Evening Globe. 

We close with the following picture. 

A table underneath the trees on Milton Stem's 
front lawn. It is laden with Missourian luxuries, 
for a Kansas author has just paid a commission to 
a "divine" for placing a Canadian war manuscript. 

The athletic preacher (but for the theatrical sig- 
nificance we should say "actor") sat at the head; a 
place of honor, no doubt, but also the point farthest 
removed from a tempting variety of cake and fruits ; 


The New Peter 


351 


on either side of him, his wife (who might be mis- 
taken for a more mature Helen Dyke) , and daughter. 
Beyond them, to the right, a lean, fair individual and 
a dark-eyed one; to the left, a person who insisted 
on sketching the company and was in danger of hav- 
ing his work spoiled by the nudging of a more prac- 
tical person, who feared that he would forget to eat. 

I hear Noel’s bass rumble of a laugh, so, afflicted 
reader, I beg of you to excuse me. Let me go away 
with those happy tones ringing in my ears ! 

I leave you with the joyous company; warning 
you, however, that some one is liable to start a philo- 
sophical argument. 

Indeed, to be perfectly frank, I withdraw myself 
on that very account ; for I can not remain, in spite 
of the many temptations to neglect it, without en- 
deavoring to record all that is said : and that would 
be too great a labor for a scribe who with aching 
head feverishly anticipates those sweet words. The 
End. 

But as for yourself, I trust you will partake of 
Milton Stern’s hospitality and attend to his com- 
pany’s conversation. It will not be trivial, I promise 
you, nor yet mournful. You will hear sentiments 
that come from the heart and have a vital bearing 


352 


Peter Bosten 


upon life. You will feel, when you know them, that 
these men and women are worth while — because they 
are sincere. 

THE END 






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